What really is a home?
I think it's the place you feel most welcomed. Most loved. Most accepted.
For me, that's at my dad's house.
But I'm rarely there.
I hate it at my mom's house.
Actually, I hate my mom.
And my stupid step dad.
I tried to talk to my mom about my mental health, and she started yelling at me. She said I was normal. That I was completely fine, that I was stupid for thinking otherwise.
I just wanted help.
A therapist maybe.
And anytime she sees me tic, she gets mad at me.
She calls me a retard.
She gets mad when I cry.
I don't know why.
When I was little I thought that crying was wrong. Because she'd get so mad.
Now I just hide it.
I hide a lot.
And my step dad.
My stupid, manipulative, no good step dad.
I hate him.
So much.
For everything he did.
To my mom
To my older sister
To my little sister
To me.
I don't feel bad for hating him.
Because he had to have hated me for what he did.
Sorry.
