dear you

sometimes i hate you so much i can hardly breathe.

sometimes i wonder how i can understand almost anybody but you, except i understand you well enough. red face, screaming. blue eyes, darting left-right-left. it always reminds me of a predator. only most predators know well enough to sting or to bite or to paralyze and you just yell at me and you don’t pull back.

today i screamed back.

i got tired of it, after she essentially threw me at your mercy. blamed me. then i got mad at her and i got mad at you and i came back out of my room and told you to SHUT UP and it was one of the most terrifying things i’ve ever done only, i think you forgot. you made no mention of it because you didn’t shut up, you continued to yell at her and then he was upset and i told you shut up, shut up you blame me for stressing him out but look at what you’re doing SHUT UP.

and eventually you did. you followed her out of the house and said the usual things about never seeing her again. the boy gathered his toys and you screamed at him too. later he told me he wished he’d never been born, why had he been born?

and you and him told me to go too just go she’s waiting so i went.

and then she yelled some, and when the boy and i were outside, he told me he was useless and he thinks nobody wishes he was born.

only he’s wrong, you know. because he’s not the daughter that didn’t fix things, he’s not the daughter that causes the fight- he’s not the daughter that can’t console anyone when they’re crying and feeling useless and angry because emotions aren’t her bag. emotions are complex. especially with family and when they’re ridiculous and they’re family members that threw you to the wolves. he’s not the daughter that caused all this mess at her conception in the first place. because this daughter’s mother wouldn’t hate herself if she hadn’t been born in the first place, if she hadn’t exposed everything to her grandmother. everything would be fine if this child hadn’t been born.

me. not the boy. because the boy is good and loving and a bit spoiled, but he knows how to handle family members and their tears. but me. me, i stand and watch as everybody cries and laments their birth and mistakes, and my eyes are the only ones dry, save my grandfather’s, but he’s just angry and trying to get everyone to STOP being angry.

and i, i don’t help right. i run away when things are bad. and they all know it, everyone in the family does. only evan’s still delusional enough to think i’m worth it all. the rest of the family just won’t admit it. except when they’re angry. except on days like today.

maybe it’s not you i hate, you with flushed face from screaming and darting eyes and spray of spittle. maybe it’s me. because i only hate you when i’m angry, and i hate me much more of the time. i wouldn’t have to hate you if i didn’t fuck up so bad. i just try to blame you for things. i shouldn’t.