My parents and my sister often tell me that I should not feel the need to be like my

older sister. Also, apparently I have always been jealous of her, and hate her. I do

not think I am jealous, and I know I do not hate her.

The following may sound very odd, but it is the only way I can reason the above

assertions:

My sister went to Choate, a boarding school in the top 5 of the country. She, also,

went to the University of Cambridge (Anthropology & Archaeology), and UCL

(Law). She took 4 A-levels, at the age of 17, and got the highest marks in all of

them: English, History of Art, Religious Studies, and (I don’t remember what the last

one was).

When I was 11, I went to Choate Summer School. While I was there, I made friends

(wouldn’t call it that now) with a girl from China who went by the name Diana. She

was psycho, and once she took a razor to her wrist in the common room. When

she left the room, telling everyone not to touch anything, I took the razor and hid it.

When she came back, she began shouting and demanding it to be given back, and

said it wasn’t anyone’s business if she killed herself. I freaked out and demanded a

short Chinese girl who wore glasses to come with me (I don’t remember her

name), and we reported it to the prefect/proctor of the dorm. Another reason

some schools are shit (in their own special way): We had to beg and prod and

needle the proctor into being willing to go down and speak to Diana, because she

was ‘busy’.

I went to 8 high schools: Westover, Beekman School, NYMA (only for about two

weeks), Storm King School, Concord College, Haileybury, Hoosac School, and Kolbe

(Home School). I applied to Choate and was rejected twice, as my SSAT scores were

shit. My parents and sister pointed out that maybe I was not as smart as her, but

that just meant I should try harder. I applied to the University of Oxford twice, and

was rejected twice. [And here is probably a good representation of how my mind

works: I had 5 interviews at Oxford in total, and was interviewed by 3? colleges.

For some reason, when I think back on it, I feel like maybe they were interested in

taking me. This is a joke, however, because I would never have passed my A-levels.]

After my high school graduation, in 2005, I attended 4 A-level colleges before,

finally being allowed to take the exams. They were: CCSS, the Abbey School- in

Cambridge, DLD, and MPW-London.

When I finally ended up in a school my older sister had been to before, it was

probably the first time I felt bitter about having a genius/smart older sister. I had

been on meds for a while and they make my mind slow down and at first I had

trouble reading and stringing sentences together. I found it easy to forget simple

things, such as: pronunciation of words, words, meaning of words, how to eat, how

to fall asleep, how to read, what words looked like written down, etc. (even if I am

transcribing everything, these are my words and my thoughts).

My sister had attended MPW, in London, in 2002/2003, and taken her A-levels in a

year. She was admitted to the University of Cambridge when she was still 17 years

old. I ended up in MPW, in London, when I was asked to leave DLD (Davies Lang &

Dick). I spent two years attempting A-levels, and by the end of it I had earned a

BCD in Mathematics, Chemistry, and Biology. (I only was able to scrape by with

three A-levels- anymore and I would have failed every last one of them). I fell

asleep in these exams and left them very early. (Other exams I have fallen asleep in:

the SATs- and even ended up having a nightmare- and perhaps snoring. Something

odd to note: though I am very certain all the seniors took the SATs in the winter of

2005, there is no recorded score or record of me even sitting the exam.)

At MPW-London, I was constantly being told about my older sister, and how

well she did in school, and how remarkable it was that she did so well in all her

exams. The teachers were probably just interested in finding out how she was

doing after enrolling in Law School at UCL, but I took it somewhat personally. The

two years I was at MPW I dealt with people saying how refreshing it was to know

that my older sister was not smart just from her genes. Also, random comments

about my parents (who apparently abused her according to the people at this

school), which is absolute bullshit. Sadly, my older sister often tells people my

parents abused her, and smacked her around. It is even more disturbing when you

take into account the fact that she usually was the perpetrator. My first math

teacher at MPW loved that I was a ‘dunce’. Another, thought I had trouble with ‘big

words’. It was my third year on medication, and one of the main side-effects I

experienced was word recognition, and loss of vocabulary. When my grandmother

died my first year at MPW I went and bought a bottle of vodka and drank it. I was

drunk for the remainder of the year continuously. (through the review sessions

and in the exam hall- where they went through the bags and demanded to know

who had put a bottle of Jack in their bag- I left the exam hall when they said they

would throw it out, and drank for the rest of the day instead). This was pretty

much the same pattern I followed the next year, except I sat the exams and got my

shit grades (that I deserved considering my shit understanding and effort): BCD.

My sister comforted me by saying it was not that big of a deal that I wasn’t smart,

and that I made up for it by being nice. When I received my BCD grades, I defaulted

on all my offers from colleges. QMUL was willing to take me anyways, though, and I

was very happy to learn this. (I was in NYC when the exam results were posted).

My sister thought it was ‘cute’ that I was going to enroll at QMUL, and it was ‘sweet’

that I wanted to follow her everywhere. As if my parents didn’t force me to enroll

in Concord College and Haileybury when I was 15, and then forced me to study in

England when I was 17+ again against my choice. (By this time I had come to terms

with all this bullshit- because that is what it is, nothing that terrible, but I would

argue – though many might disagree- not that great, either, and wanted to get a job

and leave and somehow find a way to rent a place of my own).

I applied to the University of Oxford a few times, and was always told not to bother.

When I received the invitation to visit for interviews, the people who had gone

along with the silly idea/wish would invariably end up wishing to have no obvious

connections to my application. They, also, tended to become very angry, as other

people more worthy of an Oxford seat were not given the chance to have an

interview. (I don’t know why it was such a big deal- I was only ever rejected by

them). I had wanted to attend Oxford since I was very small, but it is not that out of

the ordinary to not have your dreams realized. (Is that pessimistic or lazy for me to

state like that?) When the third year (of my many attempts at A-levels) came

around, my tutor (who had written my recommendation for Oxford the previous

year- when I applied for Chemisrty- the year before that I applied for Human

Sciences) told me that the people who interviewed me at St. Anne’s for Chemistry

were very impressed with me, and that I should apply again to them specifically,

and they would keep in touch with him about how to proceed with the application.

I didn’t apply to Oxford that year. In fact, I didn’t apply to Imperial that year, either.

I had come to a realization about my academic worth and had decided to apply

with a realistic perspective. After all, each application comes with a fee. So, I applied

to QMUL, and other places that were still far too good for my level of grades.

Somehow, I ended up in QMUL, but even there I did not do well. I was unable to

finish many practicals, and sometimes even enter the lab, as my classmates refused

to partner with me, and were unwilling to even be somewhat civil in the lab.

Sometimes, I ended up washing other people’s equipment, as I was often the last

person there, still attempting to finish the practical assignment, without the

necessary extra set of hands.

My family moved to California that year, and my parents explained to me, as I got

into the car, that London was too far away from Los Angeles, for it to be

worthwhile for me to stay in QMUL- I wasn’t even close to being the top of my

class, anyways. I am still trying to get accepted by a college and somehow earn an

undergraduate degree.

My academic jealousy would probably be better understood if it was simply called

‘degree envy’. I do not have a single degree, or diploma I would be proud to cite,

and my sister has multiple academic documents she can proudly refer to.

When I was 14 years old, I was a sophomore in high school, and I was

enrolled in all junior classes. I could have graduated high school when I was 15 if I

had stayed in the American system. Even though I cut the majority of my classes, I

was in the honor roll, and had a B or higher in every class. When I was a freshman,

I received awards in history and math, and had a record-breaking number of hours

of detention not attended. (it was in the hundred thousands- which to me made no

sense- they added penalty hours if you didn’t take care of them). However, when I

was 15, my parents sent me and my brother to England, where we began studying

for GCSEs. I still had problems with kleptomania and alcohol, I smoked often but

eventually quit. When I was a senior in high school, I got burns on my forearms

when I passed out in my dorm room in Hoosac. My dorm parent refused to have

my heater fixed, it was set at a very high level – and my room for a good amount of

time was 120 degrees Fahrenheit (checked by a portable thermostat). She claimed

she was helping me by not telling my parents I cut myself – as she had taken to

referring to my burns as cuts made in a depressive episode. This is absolute

bullshit, as they were obviously burns. The nurse at that school refused to treat

them. I was put on medication, eventually, and had lots of issues. I (really) never

went to home school, and for the most part, a high school diploma was a fantasy, I

just agreed with. That was why I eventually tried to sit A-levels, as then it wouldn’t

matter that I did not have proof of high school graduation- (because I technically

didn’t).

This dorm parent was not the first person, nor the last to pretend not to see or

notice and not care about serious problems I encountered. My parents had money,

they could afford to treat me, and they could afford to fix me, everyone else was

simply not interested or too busy. This is funny as technically, back then, they were

all legally obligated to do all the things they refused to do. My dad will tell me off,

when I yell for no reason about things that happened a long time ago that there is

no way of fixing, that I think I am the only good person in the world, or that I am

simply making everything up. I cannot really respond to that, as anyone who knows

me or has met me will probably understand. I have no proof I went to any of these

schools, I have no proof of any of my injuries- I did not scar, and the medication- I

have no medical records of that kind. The only way I could ever hope to prove

anything, would be if someone remembered- Yes, you did cry that day, or yes I saw

you claw the scabs off your wrists, and maybe that would be enough.

Honestly, it wouldn’t be enough for me. At least not today. I still am stupid like I

was when I was 16 years old, and again every year after, when I remember

everything. Still the same me, still the same answer: Is it possible to turn back time?

Can I start over? I don’t think this is fair- but that is fucked up- I want to at least

have a reason for all the fucked up bullshit- because I don’t have a reason.

Someone hurt me, and so did other people, but no one was there? I doubt it, but

they weren’t there how I would have wanted. I am a selfish bitch or maybe I still

have not come to terms with the fact that I have to learn to deal with all the bullshit,

this and more.

It’s like my whole life is one big freak accident, and somehow I have to get over my

wish to at least be allowed to figure out how to go back in time and hug myself and

keep that little girl company before she bleeds and cries for real.

When I was taken advantage of (sexually assaulted and raped, though I used to say it was molestation because I still felt like a child at that age)  when I was 14, I was very embarrassed. I felt

extremely humiliated and I could not understand why no one seemed willing to help me. When the nurse refused to listen to me or follow-up on my report of sexual abuse by a senior in the school, I became depressed. The whole year I wrote angsty bullshit poem after another. When I got bored in an algebra exam (because I could not remember any of the formulas) and wrote a poem in a circle (I do not

know how to draw so instead of sketching/doodling, I write silly bullshit), the nurse quickly confiscated the exam and sent a photocopy to my parents, and called a psychiatrist in for an emergency consult. (who she told I had an abusive boyfriend and who I refused to speak with). I never told my parents that year- I did not know how to explain any of it- I still do not know how. No one put a gun to my head and forced me to do anything. He may have dragged me places, forcibly, and physically abused me, but he never threatened my life, and so why was I so scared and incapable of running away? Why was I so willing? (questions I want to someday be able to answer).

[Fucked up fact: I don’t know if I am a virgin- i.e. I don’t remember the rape ever even though I know it happened, I only remember the assaults. A lot of this time is vague, as I spent most of it drunk to the point of delirium. I found it easier not to cry when I was drinking lots of vodka and whiskey. Even more fucked up fact: The SKS senior asshole wasn’t the first and my parents still thought I was at fault even then].

Which will probably explain my one major jealousy with regards to my older

sister… When I was 15 years old, and still trying to cope with things (not that shit

stopped happening- one of the many reasons I hope there is no God), my sister

shocked me by knowing the name of the asshole who had used me. She thought it

was very amusing and sat me down in a bench in the park in Cambridge, England,

and handed me a banana- telling me she would only help me find my new home,

after I had treated it like I treated him.

I did as she asked, while crying, and eventually sobbing- which annoyed my sister

and brother so much they started walking back without me, and I had to run to

catch up with them.

I am the borderline child in my family, even though all these things really happened

and I really do get upset, and really don’t plan anything ahead. My sister is the

PTSD victim, and my brother is the depressed one.

My older sister has had very disturbing things happen to her- the first, as far as I

am aware, when she was 19 years old. And here is where I become very disgusting,

I am jealous that my parents comforted her. I envy the fact that her friends were

there for her, and that people still respected her. I am jealous that people noticed

she was not the same person. I get upset that no one noticed what happened to me,

and if they did they only thought it was funny. Someone figured out how to shut me

up, I was very loud, I always thought I was better, I won’t think that now.

A friend when I was 14 drew a picture of my face, with my mouth gaping open.

When I asked her, somewhat disturbed by the image, why my mouth was like that,

she replied because she was going to put something in it. She then asked me what I

thought would fit best, I was hurt and very shocked. This was the girl who told me

she had been raped by the same person, I could not understand why she saw me

like that. I tried not to cry, and holding back tears, I said, ‘I like ice-cream’.

I cried anyways, like the sensitive piece of shit I still am.

 

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