All I ever wanted was my dad to be proud of me. But right before I left he pulled me aside and told me not to come back and murder the family? So, I guess I failed. Instead of making him proud I became a threat. Not a daughter, not family, just dangerous. He looked down on me for being a writer because, sometimes, I would use our experiences in my story. Like...here. He went through my stuffed animals every once in a while. He made ME choose what to keep and what to toss. He gave me a time-limit when I left, so I still couldn't take everything. My brother told me that the very next day my mom went through and threw out my stuff. My brother later told me that the THINGS I hold dear, stuffed animals, 'were trash'. So, even he doesn't understand me. Maybe it was never meant to work out? 

I just wanted to make my dad proud. I think that if I was a boy, his son, it could've. I wish I had been stronger. I don't regret cutting. I can't? It felt so good. I HAD to know my pain was real. I'm trapped now in my memories because I don't want to let go, not really. I don't want to let go of family? Whenever I call my mom she keeps saying 'well, I bought you things' like that's supposed to make everything ok. I keep wondering if being on Prozac and me forgetting who they were was such a bad thing. Not because I want to forget them, but because maybe they could've made it work between us. I just wanted to matter to be honest. The only thing keeping me alive is my sister. I want to live for her. I like being needed and cared about. I just hope...it isn't fake between us. 

I don't think I'll ever go back to my parents. I'd rather be homeless.