I Hate You

• Baillie French, Grade 9
• Short Story
• 2019

I hate you. I was young, vibrant, and happy. Then just like that, there you were. I wish I knew what was to come, and how you would ruin my life. In the early days, I thought to myself “It’s okay, other people go through this.” But it wasn’t okay, I know that now.

The bruises began to form, and the people around me started to notice. I couldn’t tell anybody what was really happening. I was ashamed of you, ashamed of how they would react if I ever told them how you got to me. I didn’t want to be treated differently and I protected you without a thought for myself, I barely saw my friends and I withdrew from all of the people I cared about most. I should have leaned on them, I should have allowed them to help me, but I didn’t.

Not only was I physically exhausted, the mental impact I withstood was debilitating. As the months dragged out and I grew weaker, my body drained and my zest for life crippled. You were always by my side, dictating every next move. I remember that feeling in the pit of my stomach when you were around – the nausea and the anxious tightening of my bowels. It was so painful. Every time I felt my best, you found a way to bring me down.

Waking up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat and a rapid heartbeat, I couldn’t rest, I couldn’t sleep and by this stage, I could barely eat. It was then I realised, you were never going to leave. Mornings were hard because it hurt to get out of bed – the bruises had become more frequent, and my muscles had begun to ache. I remember waking up in pain, begging for it to end. But it wasn’t going to.

The time came where I couldn’t hide it anymore, my physical appearance and my lack of social presence became apparent that something was seriously wrong. My relationship with my family was already strained from the events at Stonewall fifteen years ago, so I couldn’t approach them. I went to my friends first, and as I thought, they were devastated, of course they supported me, but they were devastated. My very best friends wondered why I couldn’t tell them from the start, but I was obviously ashamed.

With the sound of sirens, and a short trip to the hospital, I knew deep down that this was my final chapter. I had the staff call my parents as I waited on a treatment for pneumonia, which became life threatening, because of you. This was going to be it, this was going to end me. When I heard the curtain open, and saw my mother’s face, I couldn’t fight back the tears. I knew that after months of not seeing me, she’d be sickened at how thin I was. “What on earth is wrong with you?” she said. “I’m so sorry mum, I have aids, and it’s killing me.” And just like that, after a few difficult years and very limited time with the people who cared most, you made me leave this world so young. You took my dignity, you ended my life, and for that… I hate you.