"You need to get a job."
You need to work to support this family even though you were born into a good position financially. You need to work because I refuse to. You need to work so I have a reason to hate you.
"You need to give me a break."
I can't deal with you crying like this, sewn at my hip. She refused to go on field trips with me after I begged her to take me with her when she left. Every time.
"I'm going to slit my wrists."
And as a ten year old child I sobbed because I thought my mother was downstairs in the kitchen, on the verge of death.
I thought I killed my mother.
I thought a lot after that.
I love you, mom. I do.
Don't be sad when you read my life story.
