Wish Me Luck

I leave for New York tomorrow morning and I am more scared than an innocent man on death row (don’t laugh, I’m being serious).

My friend called me a masochist yesterday because she thought I was only going to cause myself more pain by going to see my parents. No, I don’t enjoy misery. Honestly, I think if I don’t go, it might be masochistic. I’d always be tortured by my unanswered questions and not knowing would make me miserable. I’d constantly be wondering why my parents pretty much left without telling me and haven't contacted me since I dropped them off at the airport. I’d wonder why I’m the least favorite of the bunch and why I’m treated so… well, I’m just going to say it… horribly. I’m their family, and I don’t like them treating me like this.

Before I go to New York, I figured I should share a bit of family history because when I get back I’m probably going to have a lot to say and it’ll probably going to be really confusing if I don’t share this.

Let me start at the beginning, my parents. In my opinion, they were made for each other. Both had illegitimate children at a relatively young age with people who are now nowhere to be found. Neither one of them technically “took care” of their kids. Their parents pretty much raised them while my parents got their degrees. Keep in mind that all of this happened before they even knew each other, so that’s why I think they were meant to be. They are very intelligent, dedicated people, so both got their careers started pretty early despite them having kids. My mom became a doctor, and my dad became a lawyer.

When my dad got punched in the face in court by a witness he had caught lying, my mom was the one who gave him stitches. My parents always say that they knew they were soul mates the moment they met. Three months later, they got married. My siblings had no problem with it because they all liked each other and now there were five of them, each with about a two year difference between each other. Everyone was happy.

A year and two months later, little Tina (that’s me) was born. I was the only one that really belonged to both of them. I was also the only one my parents had to take care of. All my grandparents had moved and weren’t going to take care of me like they had taken care of my siblings. There was also a big age difference between my siblings and I. The youngest of them was 8 when I was born and the oldest was 16.

I think my siblings didn’t take it too well. I’ve always been the black sheep in the family. They immediately found things to hold against me. Both my parents have blonde hair and light blue eyes, but none of my siblings inherited them because the other half of their genes were different. I was the only one born with blonde hair (and not one strand of hair has ever gotten darker) and blue eyes. They’ve called me a dumb blonde (even though I’ve had always had a 4.0 and got a 1540 on my SAT-both better than they got) from day one (I have proof of this because we have a video of my brother saying I was going to grow up to be a dumb blonde when I was still in the hospital).

They also immediately considered me the runt in the family. They were big by the time I was born. I was small, and I stayed small. I stopped growing many years ago (but that‘s ok because I like being 4‘ 9‘’). I guess that’s why they found it so easy to boss me around and torture me so much. But they did take it to the extreme sometimes.

I think there were just a lot of reasons why they automatically made me an outcast. All of which I had absolutely no control of. Like my ethnic background. My mom is half Columbian half Venezuelan, and my dad is half Italian half British (how the hell that happened, I don’t know). My siblings saw this as an opportunity to come up with an even more offensive nickname for me: Dumb Mutt. They combined the stereotype for a blonde and combined it with the fact that I have a mixed ethnicity. Of course, everyone always laughs it off, but it’s not that funny to me.

As you can probably tell, my siblings don’t really like me. I can see a few reasons why (I see them, but I think their pretty dumb), but what I don’t understand is why my parents haven’t been particularly fond of me. It’s something I’ve always wondered about. I know they probably had a hard time when I was born because I was the first one they were really taking care of, but I’ve always believed there’s more to it than meets the eye. I’ve always felt like my parents, especially my mother, were somewhat distant to me. I know for a fact that I’m their least favorite because of how differently I’m treated. My question is: Why?

I’ve never done anything bad to my parents (at least not that I know of). I know they aren’t particularly happy that I’ve perused a career in fashion design instead of law or medicine (they pretty much didn’t talk to me for a year because of it). Besides that, there’s nothing I can think of that I’ve done. I’ve always treated them with respect, I’ve never asked them for anything, and I’ve never complained to them about anything (I’ve wanted to but I never have). I want to know why I’m treated like this.

When my brother was visiting, he blurted something out when he was drunk. I know he did it to hurt me because that’s just the way he is. I asked him why no one in my family seemed to like me. He said it was because I made mom sick. At that moment, my suspicions were confirmed. When I started getting old enough to do a little research and was able to comprehend more, I realized my mom might’ve suffered from Postpartum Depression after I was born. I never had the guts to ask anyone about it or tell anyone what I thought.

I don’t know if what my brother said was true or if he said it because he’s a jerk. Either way, I want to know if this is true. When I find my parents, I want them to be honest with me. If it is true, I’m not going to hold it against them. If my mom was depressed, then I’m pretty sure my dad automatically because distant from me because of it and the same might’ve happened with my siblings. If it’s not true, then I honestly can’t think of any other reason why they don’t like me and I’m going to have to accept that they don’t like me for no reason. I think that might hurt me more. I’m prepared to handle the truth. I just want answers for once. I’m not a little girl anymore.

So wish me luck because I’m going to need it.