“I don't need you” were the last words my dad heard from me before his heart stopped. I was 17 by that time.
I was known as the school's rebel, the class clown, and the difficult one - the odd one out. I wore black, oversized clothing to make people believe they should be scared of me, because the one thing I was actually scared of was love.
My father was very sick and spent a lot of time in the hospital, while my mom faced the threat of losing her job if she stayed home. My godmother was responsible for spending time with me, but she didn't want to. Whenever I asked her to play with me, she would roll her eyes and prefer to watch TV.
I cried myself to sleep every night, hoping someone would take me home. In public, we were the perfect family, as long as I was the perfect child, but at home, I was alone.
The bullying in school became so bad that by age 10, I developed my own coping strategy to get through it. I called it the Hercules method.
Growing up feeling like I never fit in, I isolated myself from social activities. I had few friends and struggled to connect with my classmates. I never accepted myself and always attracted people who would make me earn their love or food through exercise or by sharing my achievements. This pattern went on for years and broke me down.
