Do you seriously wonder why I don’t talk as much as I used to? Don’t hug you?
You’re supposed to be my parents, people I’m supposed to trust, to confide in.
I used to think I could. But now, I’m not so sure.
I did nothing wrong, at least not to make you hate me.
If you say I was a mistake, fine, but it’s not my fault that you two jumped into bed with each other.
It’s your fault that happened. Not mine. Yours.
And to my dear, dear stepmother, don’t take it out on me that you lost your second child. I didn’t even know those two.
The cat is not your child. He is feline, not human. It pisses me off seeing the way you treat him.
“Oh, R.V’s such a nicey wicey cat, so I’m going to put him in the child’s bed.”
I do not want cat hair and fleas and cat shit in my bed, thank you very much. But when I tell you that it’s all, “Oh shut up. He’s not your cat.”
And then, you feed him off the table.
I do not like to have a cat trying to get food off my plate, whilst I’m eating.
And you know what? Hmmm? I’m finding that I can trust people on the internet, who could be forty year old pervy stalker dudes, better than you three. I wonder why that it? Oh yes, It’s because when I talk to them, I don’t have to feel like I’m the adult while talking with them. Unlike you three who just fight, fight, fight all day long, bitching about each other.
No wonder I’m sick of you. No wonder why can’t wait to move out of this hellhole. It really is no wonder why some days I just want to curl up in a ball and die.