“You accept the love you think you deserve”, says Mr. Anderson in Stephen Chbosky’s coming-of-age novel The Perks Of Being a Wallflower. I vaguely understood this quote when I first read the novel in the summer of 2020, but it has only become more comprehensible in my four years of high school.

   I have met many people who grew up in dramatically different circumstances than myself. They had parents who treated them not as children but as mothers. Machines that can tolerate the most brutal conditions without fighting back. These individuals didn’t grow up with unconditional love and don’t believe it exists for them. Such love is unfathomable—only seen in movies or social media posts. It isn’t tangible, observable… real.

   I have met people who hurt themselves, or put themselves into situations where they will get hurt, because they feel it is what they deserve. It is how they have been conditioned, raised as monsters unworthy of eternal love or praise. They feel they warrant the absolute worst. To be torn up, used, and abused. 

   An estimated 1,820 children died from abuse and neglect in 2021, according to the American Society for the Protective Care of Children. More than 50,000 US citizens died just last year, according to NBC News. Child abuse and neglect can cause depression, mental illness, and sometimes, even suicide. This significantly impacts one’s perception of their self-worth, growing into their adult selves.

   I grew up with a girl named Daisy. She was the kindest person I ever knew. But I was never allowed to sleep over at her house. I never understood why.

   Her father was a drug addict. My mom could tell just by meeting him one time. His arms were bone-thin, and you could see the veins in his pale neck. Daisy told me about how he would leave her and her little brother in the car at the pharmacy while he exchanged “shopping bags” with his dealer. Her mother was a nurse, and was rarely home. Neither was her father. I always wondered why Daisy would be absent from school all the time, but now I understand. Daisy was the caretaker of her little brother and sister. She never got to be a kid. My parents loved Daisy, but never wanted me to be put in the wrong place at the wrong time by being around her. 

   As she got older, I got increasingly worried for Daisy. She wore long-sleeved shirts and hoodies, even during the summer. She made concerning jokes. She dated guys who were adults. She took pictures of herself climbing on the edge of bridges. She tried to act carefree and gleeful like nothing was wrong. I wish I had seen the cracks in the porcelain. The signs that not all were as it seemed. 

   I started dating a guy. I was so enthralled by the fact he saw me romantically, and not as the weird girl who was an easy target for tormentation. I devoted more time to him than to my best friends. Things spiraled from there. He said some terrible things. I never heard them. I was committed, rose-colored glasses on, completely enamored by him. He could do no wrong. I defended him. Daisy and I had a falling out. I deleted her number and blocked her from everything. I never saw her again. And I’ll always regret that.

   Daisy was at the worst point in her life. She was climbing on the Betsy Ross Bridge. She was hiding the marks on her skin with hoodies and long pants. She was dating guys in college as a high school freshman. Things weren’t okay. She was pushing me away even when I was still friends with her, and now, I would never see her again. I left her drowning in the deep end, with no one to hold on to.

   In late July, my friend told me she was raped. By the guy she told us not to worry about. The guy we warned her about. The guy she was dating right before our friendship fell. The sweetest girl I ever knew, who only deserved the best, had the worst thing happen to her. 

   We told her he was a bad guy. That he was ill-meaning and was treating her like a doll to be thrown around. She could never hear us. To her, it was what she deserved. It was her first kiss. Her first love. She was at the lowest point of her life, and just needed something, someone to be there for her. I wish I could have been there. But I couldn’t. I was a naive fourteen-year-old girl, in a two-year-long relationship with a guy I would have given everything for. My rose-colored glasses blinded my sight, hindering me from seeing what was happening. By the time they were taken off, it was too late. I was in Jersey, miles and miles away from my origin, with no plans of homecoming. I cut up all the pictures and tried to move on. It was all I could do.

   She reached out to me a year and a half later on her new phone. I answered within five minutes, profusely apologizing for everything. I shouldn’t have defended him like I did. Especially when he said the f-slur. I was naive, and completely in the wrong. At the time, I was angry that my friends didn’t see him in the glorified light that I did. That they didn’t want to invite him to the hangouts or have him around. I cast them aside. I was wrong, and Daisy deserved better. 

   The rape had led to a lawsuit and trial. I never learned how it ended. But she followed me on Instagram. She has a new boyfriend, who is in the same grade, and seems to be treating her far better. She knows her worth and has found the love she truly deserves. I’m happy for her. 

   If you or anyone you know has been in a similar situation, please know that it is not everlasting. You will get through this night. You are worthy of all of the love and support you receive. You deserve love. And that is not determined by anyone else.

National Domestic Violence Hotline: 800-799-7233

National Sexual Assault Hotline: 1-800-656-4673