'Ha! What can she do? She can’t even peel an onion!'
The words ring in my head. Again and again. I cover my ears, trying to shut out the sound. I can’t. 'She just sits at home, and does nothing!' 'Dad, let’s go there, it’s such a mess here.' 'No, you have to understand. It must be very hard for her. Her mother never taught her how to keep clean, to keep her shoes neatly and things like that.'
Shut up! Shut up! The tears roll down my face. The mocking voice never stops. You’re worthless, it says. What’s so good about you? You’re not pretty. You can’t cook. You’re not neat enough. Who’d ever want you? Your own family are ashamed of you! I trip and stumble down the stairs. I can’t see because of the tears. I wrench open the drawer. Do it, do it, says the voice. With shaking hands, I draw out the medicine bottle. No! I throw it on the floor. My sister loves me. My dad loves me.
The mocking voice roars in my head. Who are you lying to? Why do you think your sister never takes you anywhere with her? Don’t you remember what your father said to you? ‘You can’t perfume shit.’
He was talking about you! You are worthless, and no one can change that. You’ll never be like your sister. See how neat she is? Her room is never in a mess. She can cook. She can talk to people. Everyone loves her. No one loves you. No one really wants you. She never gets lectured. She knows how to be clean. She knows everything that you don’t.
I can’t take it anymore. I want to leave. I’m gulping down the pills, choking. I’m screaming. Yes, yes. The mocking voice approves of me. That’s right. Just leave. Go where you can’t embarrass yourself anymore. I gulp down the water. A few more pills, says the mocking voice. You don’t want to get sick or anything, you just want to go. I hesitate. 'She’s such bad luck! I think I’ll just send her to her mother.'
'But he kept me!' I cry. 'My dad loves me!'
'You can’t perfume shit.' 'You can’t perfume shit.' 'You can’t perfume shit.' I struggle one more time. He was just angry. He didn’t mean that. He loves me.
He would never tell your sister something like that. The mocking voice is back. He always makes excuses for her, never for you. Join me. Come to me. I love you, I care about you. They don’t. They don’t want you. I give in. Ten more pills. I struggle back up the stairs and fall into bed. My father comes home. He seems excited as he calls for me. A small part of me begs me to go downstairs. To tell him what happened. I can still go back. I can sort this out. He does love me. He will take me to the hospital, the doctors will help me, and I will live. And he will tell me that he really loves me and everything will be fine.
I do not go downstairs.
