To My Family. Fuck You.

To my family.

IM SORRY. I relapsed. Again. I let myself be defeated by him. I lost my last brother. The one whom I thought understood me and wouldn't judge me. He left. He's officially got a place on my arm. With new, fresh and still bleeding arms.

Yet, I'm not sorry. I feel okay. I managed to transfer the pain into physical pain. And by doing that, I can cope with it better. The thoughts dont go away, and that's also not the purpose, but just to manage my pain and thoughts, I'm cutting myself. Yeah, I do that as a way to put it in my brain. While I'm cutting and the blood's seeping out of the cuts, I can put everything together and live with it.

I looked into the mirror and was scared of the person there. It's supposed to be the enthousiastic and optimistic Laura everyone knows, but instead, I saw a girl with red eyes, mascara smudged everywhere, and the eyes held an unexplainable deep pain, emptiness. I'm scared of what I've become.

I'm constantly lying to my parents that it was Veroniques fault, but no. This started waaaay before Veronique came. When I was 6, I thought I was a foster child, bought and not loved. I'd doubted familys love since then. I eventually started to hate them.

But they taught me to be quiet, because I'm the youngest. I have no worth, I'm one out of ten kids. No life experience, no right to open my mouth. That's why I'm scared to open up and speak up for myself. I've been taught that speaking up is being a burden. Especially when you're the spoiled, youngest daughter.

Now, when I'm growing up and my mind has developed way further than it should, I can think. I can reason everything. But yet, when I speak up, or at least try to (indirectly or directly, doesn't matter), I get scolded with: you're the spoiled kid but that doesn't mean you can rule over us, or: you're the youngest, what are you thinking by talking back to us? Or: you always want the last word, shut up.

You, dad, always work yourself up because of the fact that I'm not good with talking to people, I'm scared to pick up a phone (social anxiety), yet do you realise where that comes from? You've been forbidding me from learning how to speak, from daring how to speak. And yet you blame me.

I was always playing the victim card, they said. Always. Or I always denied that something was my fault, even if they said so. So I thought I was being a pathetic, spoiled, irritating kid. But now Ive grown. And I realise that I was not playing the victim card or denied my mistakes, I just tried to make then understand it wasn't my fault, because it wasn't. But their pride is way to big to accept that, from a child at that.

Too bad, mom, dad, brothers and sisters. I've grown up. I can think. I can connect the dots. It's over. You can stop. Accept your defeat, and I'll accept mine in the future, fairly. Because if you teach me how to be mischievous and dishonest, don't expect me to be perfect.

I hate you.

Laura.