Letter #142

Content Warning: self-deprecation, emotional abuse, family trauma

Family is weird. Family is blood: they’re supposed to be my number one supporter, the people I go back to. Yet I feel like an intruder amongst my own blood, and I can’t help but feel like it’s my fault. Their cruel words and exclusions only fuel this guilt that I have, and I don’t know how to fix it. I have so much anger and resentment in me toward all of them, and it’s burning me alive. How am I supposed to get over everything? How am I supposed to let go of all the anger to forget all their words? How am I supposed to feel less lonely with the people that I’m supposed to call home? I’m the angry child, the selfish one; the ungrateful, mentally ill one. I’m the cruel child, the heartless one; the stressed, pessimistic one. I’m the mean child, the egotistic one, the careless one. I’ve been hearing this my entire life, and at this point, I don’t have it in me to not believe them anymore.

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