One day, I’ll kill myself.

The most important people in my life treat me like a burden. The people who are supposed to be there for me, be willing to help me, to give their time and their love to me, treat me as though they shouldn’t be bothered to be in my corner. Like I should be ashamed of needing anything beyond food and shelter. This house is the one place I should be able to go to where I will be able to feel loved and important and worthy at all costs, but I don’t.

I’m trivial, unwanted, and unimportant.

I don’t mind when other people treat me this way, but family?

Well, all right.

I guess I’ll just go, then.


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