Never enough for you

Three

"What's in a name? That which we call a rose. By any other name would smell as sweet." -Juliet Capulet

What is in a name? Good question Juliet. Does a name really matter? Does it matter if I'm Christina or Olivia? Will you like me less? Treat me worse? No. Nothing's in a name, but pure letters. 

I remember having a school book, where I put all my drawings, school work and achievements inside of. The book was pretty normal, and, at the front, lay the words: 

Name: C. Williams

Class: 4F

Yes. My friends often call me C. Sometimes, because they can't spell Christina, some other times because it's shorter and easier to say. No one has ever had a problem with it. Even teachers call me C. Until him. Do you really have to pick a fight over a nickname? Does it really bother you that much? That you have to complain? You tell me, It isn't my identity. But it is. C is me. She's the one I hear inside my head. In exams, at night, when I do something wrong. She's my conscience. My being. Yes, my identity. If you have a problem calling me that, don't call me at all.

I remember one parent's evening. Everyone showed their book to their parents. But I couldn't. Except, I cried. The obvious choice was mum, I liked her better. But you were going to get mad if I didn't show you. And you couldn't be together. If we're honest, you couldn't even have a normal conversation without finishing shouting. Yes, and you still can't. But it wasn't mum's fault. And so I chose her. Yes. You got mad. So mad. You were red, and smoke almost flew out your ears. But I walked towards mum and forgot you existed. You deserved this. This was karma hitting you where it hurt. You don't pay the school, so you don't get first seat in these things. I remember you shouted. Loud. In front of my teacher. My friends. You humiliated me. But I still prefered mum. Even more than before. You never came to any of my school plays. I was a flower. A dragonfly. A sheep. A tree. A student. You never came to any. I hated you. So much, for not coming. But I prefered it this way.

Selfish. Pig. Do you think I wouldn't find out? I wouldn't find out about the awful things you did? Said? Or worse, do you really think mum would shut up about the things you didn't do? She's nice, but tired of your crap. She's not taking it anymore. And neither am I. 

How does it feel to be a good dad? You wouldn't know. Or maybe you would. You treat your other kids pretty well. Love. Care. Respect. These are things they recieve. I also recieve them, but not from you. For whatever reason. I don't even care anymore. I don't even want to know. But don't stay. Go. Leave. Out of my life. You don't pay anything. You don't take care of me. No one wants you here. It's my life. Leave. Please leave. 

I don't want you here. I don't love you. Not you, nor your randomized wife, nor your two sons who call themselves my brothers. I don't love you. And, of loving you anywhere, I would love you out. Of my life. Of my friendships. Of everything. You aren't my family. You've never behaved as such. You aren't my family, and the one thing I know for sure, is you'll never be my family. I don't care if you beg on your knees (which I know you'll never). Leave me and my family alone. My real family.

My real family consists of:

My friends 

My mum, Dad, sisters, grandparents

My dogs (so cuteee)

ME

I don't see you on that list. If you're not on it, that means you're not in it. 

Do you really want to be on that list? Have you really tried your best to be on it? No. You haven't. I would know. You treated me bad from the start. Even before I was born. Once, I was so angry, I made a list. Should I-? I will. 

- You talk bad about mum.

- You shout

- You try to kiss me with nutella on your lips (context- I'm severely allergic and could die.)

- Once, I overheard you saying to her : "She wasn't allergic to that chicken which was supposed to have nuts" (nuts are what I'm allergic to)

- You prefer my "brothers"

-You didn't let me do my  first comunion (even though you did yours...)

-You once let me go to my friend's party, but then when you came to pick me up, you said the plans had "changed" and we were instead going to the mountains. How fun. 

- You don't pay my school

-You're selfish

-You're a liar

-A cheater

-A pig

- I hate you.

In your eyes, I'm inferior. I'm less. Deserve less. Honestly, sometimes I feel less. Like a nuisance. Like I'm less than you. And your sticky-handed children. And your stuck up wife. These are the people I respect less in the entire world. Literally. I even respect Hannah Montana (fictional character) over you guys. Yes offense. Next time, treat me better. 

At night, I hear voices. Not voices in my head voices. Voices in my wardrobe as in I'm kidnapping you tonight voices. This might sound absurd. It is. But it's what I hear. I also hear the sound of when a camera or phone starts recording, the little, starting sound, under my curtains. Again. Absurd. But it wouldn't be the first time someone recorded me. Nor the second. Sadly, not even the third.