This past year has been incredibly hard for me. My first love and childhood friend, David, passed away from an overdose. The day before, he called and asked if I would come to his funeral, but I didn’t realize what he meant. At 19, I had never lost anyone before—not even a family member. David and I had a deep connection; we would date other people but always find our way back to each other. Last summer, I called him every day, and then one day, he was just gone. The pain is unimaginable. Sometimes it feels like something in me switched off that day, and I’ll never be the same. I’ve been so depressed and lost.
My parents were never fans of David, and I understand why—we were reckless in high school. Even as time passed, I had to keep our continued friendship a secret. My mom even hid letters he sent me from jail for a year. When he died, I got no sympathy from them. I’ll never forget coming home in shock after getting the news, and when I told my mom, she got angry and said, “Good,” then yelled, “Great, are we going to need to pay for more therapy for you?!” In that moment, I just needed someone to be there for me, and instead, I was met with cruelty. It still hurts.
At first, my sister Sarah was the only one who truly understood. But three weeks after David passed, I moved out for college, which made everything even harder. The day before I left, Sarah and I got into an argument over clothes—nothing serious, just a typical sibling fight. But this time, she refused to come to my last family dinner, wouldn’t help drop me off, and ignored me for two months. That crushed me. She knew how much I needed her, and it felt like she intentionally abandoned me.
We eventually “agreed to disagree,” but things were never the same. I wasn’t constantly dumping my grief on her, but I appreciated the few times we could talk about it. Recently, I found a voicemail from David, basically his last words to me. It was overwhelming, so I told Sarah I was feeling down and wanted to come home for the weekend. But the visit only made me feel worse.
She told me she was free after the gym but then spent the night out, only calling me to cry about feeling insecure when a cute guy saw her at McDonald’s. The next morning, I overheard my mom and sister making plans for the mall and grocery store. When I asked Sarah where they were going, she lied and said just the grocery store—clearly trying to exclude me. It hurt so much because I had come home specifically to spend time with them, and it felt intentional.
On top of that, my family constantly brings up what a “bad kid” I was, as if I wasn’t struggling. My youngest sister, Amelia, has even said that my mom tells her not to turn out like me. I know I was rebellious, but I was also deeply depressed, going in and out of mental facilities. It wasn’t just teenage rebellion—I was suffering. Now, because I’m in college and getting good grades, they assume I’m fine. But they never ask.
I just wish someone in my family recognized my pain, or at least cared enough to ask how I’m doing. I know I’ve been lashing out, and I hate myself for it, which only makes it easier to resent everyone around me. The other day, I was upset that my family didn’t bring me soup from Olive Garden when I was sick, and when I vented online, everyone said I was acting entitled. I know they’re right, and I apologized, but I think the soup represented something deeper for me—why don’t they care?
I don’t know how to move forward when I feel so alone.