I can forgive you for all that you’ve put me through. I can forgive you for depriving me of a family. I can forgive you for ignoring me when I asked to see a therapist about the depression that you ignored, too.
I won’t forget about it, can’t forget about it, however. I may be living in a first-world country with basic necessities and even some treasures – a cat I love more than anything, electronics, glasses… But I have no love.
I show symptoms of psychopathy, because I have little love in my life. Daddy dearest doesn’t give a fuck. My sweet sister is the reason for one, two, four, eight, how many cuts are there on my body? Mommy doesn’t care- not in her bed of broken dreams and migraines galore.
You don’t know that your little nerd, the baby of the family, is turning into a slut. You don’t know she’s a future alcoholic. You don’t know she’s mentally ill, or a pushover. You don’t know none of these problems would be alive if you gave her what she needs – love. You know fuck-all about me.
I’m too young to feel this old, to have failed life already.
Too young to be so broken.
Too young to die.