By Christine Brown
The idea of writing about what I would write about if I knew no one would see it is interesting to me. I always think about things that I might like to write about but am too afraid to because of who might see or read it.
If I knew that no one would read it, I would write about depression and what it feels like to live in a constant state of depression when nearly all of your family is telling you that you can’t be depressed. Because God. That you just have to look at things differently and stop being sad. That it’s a choice and all you have to do is choose to be happy and that will make everything better.
I’d write about what it feels like to have never really experienced life for myself because I’ve felt I had to give every minute of my life taking care of the disabled and elderly people in my family. I’d write about the things I wish I would have done, or felt I could have done instead. I’d write about how I felt my life has been wasted and how and why I feel that it’s too late to even try to have any life of my own if I didn’t still have to take care of people constantly, which I do, so it’s kind of a moot point.
I’d write about what it feels like to be fat… actually fat and not the “Oh my God, I’m so fat, I need to lose like twenty pounds” fat that I hear people complain about all the time. I’d write about how hard it is to listen to all of the skinny people who were just born lucky talk about how fat people are disgusting and how they should take better care of themselves and just try a little bit to lose weight. I’d write about how much it sucks to hear people blaming me for being fat, or to see that fat people are the butt of the jokes in movies, tv, and even the written word. I’d write about how I’ve never felt like I was good enough to be a person because I’ve never been skinny. I’d write about all the calories, carbs, and points I’ve counted, about the hours of working out, the lifestyle food choice changes, about the two 27 day fasts I went on so I could get the surgeries that were going to help me lose the weight, and how hopeless I felt when they all failed and the numbers on the scale kept going up. I’d write about how annoying it is when skinny people say they’re fat and turn around and tell me not to say that I’m fat.
I’d write about how I’ve never had a boyfriend, or even a date for that matter, because even if I could find someone willing to date a pastor’s kid who takes care of her elderly mom and disabled grandmother, I’d never find one who would be okay with that and my weight. I’d write about how I don’t even feel like I’m allowed to be attracted to anyone, because, as the entertainment industry has made abundantly clear, no one is attracted to fat people. I’d write about how I feel like a loser because I’m a 33 year old virgin and that is just not normal by today’s standards.
I’d write about how much it sucks to have lost 70% of my vision due to someone else’s stupidity on the road. This is something else I’m not supposed to talk about because I should be grateful that God preserved my life.
If I knew no one would read it, I’d write about my conflicting, confused, and disappointed opinions about the God I was trained to worship and love. I’d write about how, if He only wants good for me, I don’t understand why everything has been so hard and why I can’t have the simple things that everyone else in the world has, like a boyfriend or a family, or even just a normal body that works with my efforts instead of against them. I’d write about how I don’t understand why He stuck me with the role of care giver. I’d write about how, if He can do miracles, I don’t understand why He doesn’t, especially for my mom and grandma who have always served Him faithfully.
I’d write about how, for at least the past six years, all I’ve wanted is to die, because I hate my life, or the lack thereof. I’d write about how I don’t even have any hope anymore because every bit has been extinguished with every new blow and setback.
I’d write about how I am lonely and all of the friends and family that I have done so much for and given so much to never want anything to do with me until they want something from me or for me to do something for them.
I’d write about how I hate myself for the way I look, the way I feel, the way I am.
I’d write about how I’m never good enough at anything or for anyone.
These are the things that I would write about. If I knew no one would see.
Christine Brown was born and raised in Zion, IL, but she feels more at home anywhere in Ireland. She is seeking her Master’s Degree in Fictional Creative Writing at Roosevelt University in Chicago.