Three hours at the bar, you stumble in after slamming on the door repeatedly even though I told you it was open.
You look at me and tell me I am completely useless. Unwarranted, unprovoked. “Can’t even get off her fat ass” you cackle as you lose your footing for a moment. It doesn’t matter that I got up, that I unlocked the door like you asked, that I told you three times it was open. It doesn’t matter.
This is why I have xanax, This is why I fall asleep with a blade in my bed. This is why I stab myself with needles and punch my head til I swell up and bruise.
This is why I hate myself with every cell I posses.
I hear you laughing now, you saw me cry and it makes you laugh. My emotional instability fuels you, it always has. You both find pleasure in my inability to cope, my sensitivity.
I am my family’s biggest joke. Look at her, face stained with saline. Look at her with her self esteem puddled around her feet.
She will never be as strong as us and for that reason, she is nothing.