The answer is, unfortunately, no.
The problem wasn’t any individual person in particular;
rather it was that I didn’t feel wanted. How could I be; when all the talk was
of how glorious the team was, how the
good old days used to be, how lively
meetings were.
There was no room for us.
I felt like that fetus that the mother had wanted to abort,
but was forced to keep. The child she was forced to bear, and for the sake of
societal influence, she was forced to raise. That unwanted child she had to
pretend like she wanted in her house. The siblings who had to deal with her
existence in their household. It
mattered not if they eventually grew to accept that unwanted child. It mattered
not that they discovered later that she was worth loving. They hadn’t wanted
her in the first place. That was how I felt.
I felt how much of a struggle it was for all of you to deal
with my existence there. How you tried to convince me that you were good. That
all was well. The very fact that you had to point out that Brother A is really
nice, Sister B is awesome, Brother C has the kindest heart; the very fact that
you had to point it out instead of it being apparent, that wasn’t a good sign
itself.
A mother is the heart of the home, and when that heart is
vile and putrid, there can be no beauty in the house. A mother who falls fault
to her temper, who causes pain and harm due to her poor judgements, is not
worthy of my respect. She fed me and clothed me because she had to. Because if
she had not, she would suffer greater pains of society’s vicious judgements.
Honestly, I was glad that you left. Do you understand what
pain it took for a person to say she was glad to be homeless? And homeless she
was, unwanted yet again without shelter as the rain poured. But you know what?
Despite the grief she gulped down as she sought shelter in the dark alleys, she
was still relieved to be out of that
house.
