Immigrant communities thinks saying things like “you are hard to love” is normal, which then makes a cascade of deep depressive feelings that can last a lifetime. They can use their children to fulfill their basic needs like the need for attention, or the need to blame someone for their own misfortune. As a result their kids cannot truly see themselves except as an extension of their parents. They become “tool-ified”, their value is predicated only on what they can do, rather than who they are. Kids who grow up this way have no real sense of self, and when they look in the mirror they are just an extension of their parents, no more, only less. I grew up this way. I sometimes thought I sucked so hard I would torture myself and fail; my brain was on fire. In an effort to douse myself with any kind of wetness that could induce calm, I went on a campaign of self-destruction and war. Yesterday marked 7 years of sobriety (even though that word is now, like much of my life, pretty fluid), when seven years ago in New York after a female empowerment workshop and a horrific accident I decided to stop drinking. When people pray, I try to ask them to keep people like me in mind; if you’re white, it’ll be hard to understand. It can be jarring to meet someone like me who actually just doesn’t pity herself or those in her community, who has moved beyond it.