yearsburn:

I get none. My eyes are tired and I’m worn. My heart hurts, not in the emotional way but the physical way from constricting. I sit here and I’m thankful for the screen that seperates us, I’m glad you can’t see how beaten I look. How I’m down. I laugh through it because I was the one who told random people who would approach me that they were good people. How things can only get better from here. And then I read that line and realize I’m repeating what my dad has said over and over again. Last summer when we all found out he took all of us into the basement to explain what happened. How he let someone else into his life. How he let this person take the place of his family. I remember how there was too much crying in the house. Everyone was crying. My mom, my brothers, my sisters, even though one didn’t really understand what was going on. I wouldn’t let myself though. I’ve never let myself. Because he told me not to. He told me I couldn’t. When I was nine crying over little league games he threatened the belt. I’m not complaining though. It made me stronger but it made me learn to keep things to myself when I was feeling off. And that’s something that I wish I could control. I wish I could let people in. I can’t though. I think of that line “it only gets better from here” and I can’t even focus. I can’t think. Sometimes I don’t want to live because of the mistakes I’ve made and how I can’t cope with them. But then I think of you and I wonder how the fuck can you sleep at night? You ruined me. Completely ruined me. I think back to February, to December when you forgot my 17th birthday, to Hannakuh and I still remember pieces of me were still there. I was still me. Now I’m fucking wiping snot onto arm because I’m too lazy to move. I have this feeling in the pit of my stomach that I’m about to empty it’s contents. When I’m worked up I get sick. When I’m sick I get worked up. And I can’t even get the words down. How bad it hurts. I want it to go away. I don’t want you to read this and think of how pathetic this is and how I’m embarrassing myself. I want to be the person you knew. I think I lost who I was. There’s pieces of me all around the world in other people. I let them see that piece and let them keep it. Fuck I don’t want it back. “Why do you want me to be done with you?” “Because I’m done with myself”. That’s all there is to say. It’s right there in those words. I’m done. I lost. I lost the fight that I was struggling to beat for years. This has been too long. One person can only take so much, no matter who they are. I quit on myself in April. March maybe. I can’t remember. You took us out for pizza and in the car Jarrett told you that you really weren’t the same. Then you looked at me dead in my good eye and asked if it was true. And just that thought brings back too much. I start seeing the time you coached baseball at the little league, the times when you’d take just me, Jarrett and Nate out fishing with the dog. When we’d go away for weekends camping with no electricity. But it didn’t matter. We always found something to do. The times we set up forts with couch cushions. Sock football in the living room and Ma yelling that we were going to break something. How many times we broke that lamp in the corner of the foyer. I can’t even count. When we had to put Keesh down. When Nate broke his arm and couldn’t stop laughing about it. I remember when I was fifteen and you were getting better. You weren’t sick mentally anymore. I always held on to the times when you were ok. They came in short periods. I lived for those days. Remember that time we went to the Phillies game and took the wrong train and just laughed about it. Because it didn’t matter. We were going to find our way home. Home. I’ve lived here since I was one. I grew up here. And now we’re being foreclosed. How does it feel to see your family have no where to go? The part that gets to me the most is how you don’t care anymore. I know how I feel towards you and how I hate comparing myself to you but we’re alike. We both gave up. I lost my fight. You’re still fighting for something no one is sure of what, but I know you are. That’s how you are. That’s how you’ve always been. I’ll say this because I know you’d never feel guilty about it, you broke what was left. What I didn’t give, you took from me. I was holding on to my last bit of sanity. You took it from me. You took it from me in April when you told me you didn’t want to see me. When you said you needed a break. I have dealt with you my whole life. I’ve only tried to help. I’m sorry if it didn’t seem like I was at times but I was. I tried so hard. I wanted to be the reason you sobered up. I wanted to be the reason you stuck around. I wasn’t. I’ve accepted it. I wasn’t enough. I won’t be enough. I’m not good enough to do what I want in life, whatever the fuck that once was. I’m not the same person I was. I’m not the one who sulks in their room instead of facing the world. I’m facing it and it’s breaking me to the point where I can’t do this anymore. I always take the fall. I always take the blame for things because I always feel like I was the one to blame. When you’re told your entire life that something is one way, you start believing it. You’ve made me believe I’m shit. I believe that I don’t have a future. I believe I’m the cause for a broken family.

And it’s entirely your fault.