I am scared of being vulnerable. I don't like to talk about my past and how it's affected my current being. I've never been in tune with my emotions. I've always blamed others for my problems, threw countless people to the grown so I could live a little better. I grew up surrounded by hostility, a cheating mother who never could grow up and a father turned to alcohol after life was sucked from his soul, a perfect princes sister and a not so there brother. I lashed out at school, let my temper get the best of me and fell back on divorce in third grade to excuse my failing grades. Thought my father was the villain so I moved states with my mother, figured out I read the casting wrong three years too late. I couldn't see at the time what was wrong with my mother being engaged so soon, it took a few months of living on my own with a blur of fake adults to find clarity. I spent two and a half years growing up too soon, taking on nearly every responsibility while balancing school, struggling to find a social life and playing up trophy child titles. I was never meant to grow up but I was force feed roles like a child playing dress up, I was an at home therapist, best friend on hand, financial supervisor, right hand man of a house holding too many bodies and then I was a part time kid. Handed toys for payment after a job well done, my mother was twisting every story to vilify my dad making herself the victim. I was never allowed to have feelings unless they matched hers, I couldn't have an independent thought spoken aloud. I was a puppet for her to dance around when she had guests and sent back to my box when my duties were fulfilled. She told me things no child should know. She put me into uncomfortable situations and pressed the matter till she was satisfied with the lies. She tried so hard to erase her own past that she gave me my own hell to avoid in the future. If she wanted to have a "serious conversation" she'd wait till we were in a car, I couldn't leave, I was forced to lie just to stay alive. She took my pain and flipped it to her own. She never listened to me. She was never a mother to me, just some sorry excuse for a little girl trapped in an old woman's body trying to live out the childhood she always wanted but could never have. She forced me to do things I hated because it was something she always wanted to do but never could. Pretty pink dresses and sparkling black eyeliner, she wanted a cookie cutter version of herself and ignored everything that made me me to trick herself into believing she had achieved such a thing. See, I believe everyone will leave me because everyone has left me. My mother, her husband and his sons, old friends all left. I threw his kids under the bus every chance I got so that I might be sparred the headache. I became a monster to beat the monster, became the backstabber to avoid the knife.
