double standards or safety tips.

Oh lovely parents of mine, you both seem to use the excuse, “well, your brother’s a boy,” quite a lot. But does it actually make sense to you? I’ve been hearing that phrase since I was just a mere child. Understandable. No disagreement there. I am 20 years old now. By no means an adult, in my eyes, but old enough to make a few serious decisions on her own. Yet you both believe I do not have any sense in what is dangerous or spooky, what I should avoid and do. If you remember correctly, my 24 year old brother does not have a clean track record. He crashed the car, the car that was supposed to be mine as soon as I got my driving license. Completely wrecked. Sweet mother, you gave him another car, a bigger car, a jeep. How nice for him. Did he pay you back? Don’t think so. So what in your oh so precious mind made you give him another car? Is it because he likes to hang out with the hooligans and teenage alcoholics from the neighborhood? Or is it because he started dated a 16 year old two years ago? Maybe it’s because he never graduated college, not even a year. Am I getting close? Hmm, maybe it’s his ever so kind demeanor, such as the time he punched you in the face and destroyed your retina? Or maybe when he raped his ex girlfriend? I don’t think I’ll ever understand your relationship with him.  But hold the phone, I recall a moment when I was around 7 and I watched a vhs of porn that my angelic brother happened to introduce to me, and you threatened to disown me. Funny. Never remembered you saying that to him that day. Oh that’s right, he’s a boy. Stupid girl, how could I forget. I never will understand this sick connection you have with him. But don’t worry, it’s only fucked with my emotions to the point that trust and openness is not an option for me with any one.
Dear father, you worked hard and you drank hard. My childhood tears during every holiday watching you sloppily make a fool of yourself were simply tears wasted. My fault. Holidays are dead to me. I dread their arrival. But yet you still found the time to hang out and teach me a few useful things. A little better than Mother, but with the same degrading attitude towards me. As I’ve tried so hard to do what would have made you proud, what would have distinguished me from living under the same roof as my brother, meant nothing. Simply surpassed like a leaf in the wind. I shouldn’t even have tried. It was no use. It became more demeaning to myself than your neglect towards me. But yet, I am still dependent on you and don’t know how to change into what I want to become. Fucked up writing and fucked up thoughts will have no bearing on my future. These regrets have become ammunition for my self-loathing and self-hatred because in reality trying to trust people is a joke. Family is a joke. I’ll deal with this on my own such as I’ve dealt with everything else. 

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