I n s t e a d.

𝕔 𝕙 𝕒 𝕡 𝕥 𝕖 𝕣 𝕠 𝕟 𝕖 -☼

☼ 𝙴 𝙻 𝙻 𝙸 𝙴 𝙹 𝙰 𝙼 𝙴 𝚂 ☼

Some people wish for different lives for many reasons, death, pain, violence but some times, rarely it's because life is too perfect. I know, it doesn't make sense, " why would you want to change life if it's perfect." But it's not perfect, people think it's perfect, the outside is perfect. So people don't bother to look inside, but if they did, they would see it's far from perfect. People would see how fucked up it really is, would see how much pain and damage it caused, how many scars and bruises, and tears it caused, the thoughts it lead too. People truly don't understand that perfect, it doesn't exist. That is something seems perfect, it isn't and that they should really look into it. Because like in all the movies, the queen bee, the perfect girl, with the perfect body, is a big ass bitch. So why not actually look at it, see with your eyes how perfect it really is, because I can guarantee that it isn't. It's bruised, beaten, harmed, and everything in between, it's a place where parents tell their children about and warn not to misbehave or they will be sent there, the place where your worst nightmare lives, and your darkest secrets hide. It doesn't feel bad, it's not even fazed if you are laying on the floor unconscious, or bleeding down the stairs, to them it doesn't matter. And that is not perfect, that is one of the furthest things from perfect in my opinion.

One the outside we're perfect, we have the biggest house, with the white picket fence, and flowers lining the outside of the house. We have the stay at home mother, who's is also the best cook, and the hard working father, who constantly works but still has time for his family, and hasn't had alcohol is years. But there's so much more, the mother who's to much of a drunk to get a job and burns anything she touches, and the father who's has a job he hates and takes his angry out on me, and instead of alcohol he turned to drugs. And for the house, it has nothing side except for a broken couch and old mattresses, and the white picket fence is about to fall at any moment. All the money my father makes is spent on alcohol and drugs, and the food is from the tiny ass garden in the back. Our perfect life, isn't more than someone living on the streets, except we have the title of one.

And there perfect family isn't so perfect, their oldest son killed himself five years ago, not because of them, believe it or not but a one time we were normal. No, he killed himself because he was gay, and nobody accept that, only I did. He didn't want to live in a world where he couldn't love who he wanted, and how he wanted, he wanted to be free and be happy. And he knew he couldn't do that in this life, in this world. So despite my cries and begging and screams, he finally got his peace. But with peace comes a new wakening. When he died, a part of my parents did too. They turned cold and mean, they hated everyone and everything. My dad got fired from the job he loved, and took the one he hated. My mother drank her sorrows away and got fired. And there once out-going, bubbly daughter, turned distant and sad. I became so caught up in my new 'jobs' and the beatings, that I never got my time to grieve. All my sadness, pain, angry, all of it, is still stuffed inside me. Their once talkative and spontaneous daughter hasn't talked in five years, and only went to school and back. I lost all my friends, and all my love. The truth is we were that perfect family, but it died along with Billy.

Hate is a strong word, I know that. But that's how I would describe how I feel towards my family. Yes, it's harsh. And yes, it's awful to say. But those people living with me aren't my parents, they are shadows for people who they use to be. They are harsh and unpleasant, they are just there, to be there. They have lost their purpose, they lost their will, and hope. And whether they admit it or not but they feel guilty, I know they do. They feel that Billy's death was their fault, and I'm going to be frank with you, I feel a tiny bit is. They told him to hide who he was, to not tell anyone, that he should be straight, that it isn't right for men to love men, but I mostly blame society for it, my parents were only trying to protect him from the cruel world. But they could've stood by him, helped him through it. But instead they through him away, drowned his feelings, and him. So yes, I do blame them for tiny bit, because they did take my brother away from me. And I will never forgive them for that.

I know I seem rude and ungrateful, and I'm sorry but I'm tired of getting endlessly beaten, and not eating for days, I'm tired of having to spend my life cooking, cleaning, and being an object. I'm so much more than that, and I know that, I'm tired of being treated like something you can punch then throw away after use. And I miss my brother, I miss my best friend, and my companion. So, excuse my tone and choose of words but I'm fucking tired, and I miss my fucking brother.