My life

Why me

I cleaned myself up as fast as I could.

Every breath hurt. It was sharp and shallow, like my chest was collapsing in on itself. I was pretty sure my father had broken one of my ribs.

But I knew better than to ask for help.

They never would have taken me to a doctor. They never had before. Instead, I did what I always did. In secret, I searched online for what to do with a broken rib. I wrapped my chest tightly with an old bandage I kept hidden in my room and forced myself to keep moving.

Pain didn't matter.

It never did.

Even though my family hated me, I still made sure the little kids' birthdays were as special as I could make them. It was the only way I knew how to show love without being punished for it.

My little sister loved pancakes and bacon more than anything, so that's what I made for breakfast. I wanted her morning to feel warm and happy, even if mine never did.

I moved around the kitchen carefully, trying not to breathe too deeply while I cooked. The smell of bacon filled the room as the pancakes sizzled on the pan.

When they were finished, I shaped my sister's pancakes into a castle. I even added a little strawberry at the top like a flag.

After that, I scrubbed the kitchen and the living room until everything looked spotless. My hands ached from scrubbing, but I kept going until every counter shined and every floor looked perfect.

By the time I finished, it was almost 6:50 in the morning.

I stepped back and looked around the house.

It looked perfect.

Cleaner than it had been in a long time.

For a moment, I felt a small sense of pride. Like maybe this proved I was useful. Like maybe I deserved to be there.

My little sister was the first one to come downstairs.

Her face lit up the moment she saw the plate sitting on the table.

"Castle pancakes!" she squealed.

Her smile was so big it made my chest ache in a completely different way. She looked so happy. So excited.

She felt special.

That was all I wanted.

Then the rest of the family came downstairs.

The happiness in the room faded quickly.

As usual, they started complaining.

Someone said the floor still looked dirty. Someone else said the table wasn't wiped properly. My father pointed out a tiny spot on the counter like it was the worst mistake in the world.

Then the games started.

Someone spilled juice on the floor.

Another knocked crumbs off the table.

Each mess gave them another excuse to make me clean.

Every time I tried to grab a plate for myself, something else ended up on the floor. Another mess. Another command.

By the time everyone finished eating, there was nothing left.

I skipped breakfast without saying a word.

I cleaned the kitchen again, wiping the counters, washing the dishes, and sweeping up the crumbs.

My stomach ached with hunger, but I ignored it the way I always did.

When everything was finished, I went upstairs to help my little sister get ready.

That was my favorite part of the day.

My younger siblings hadn't learned how to hate me yet. They were gentle. Kind.

When I was around them, I could breathe a little easier. For a few moments, I almost felt normal.

I helped my sister into a beautiful blue princess dress she had picked out for the day. Then I slipped her little flats onto her feet.

She spun in a small circle, giggling.

I braided her hair into long, neat braids and walked her to the bathroom to brush her teeth. She talked the entire time, telling me about the rides she wanted to go on and the cake she hoped she would get later.

Her excitement filled the room.

She had no idea how heavy the world felt to me.

And I hoped she never would.

Once she was ready, I went to my room to get myself ready too.

I made sure my clothes were neat and my hair was pulled back. I tried to look presentable.

Invisible, but presentable.

Because no matter how much I was hurting...

The day still had to go on.