Invisible

So my brother is here for Labor Day weekend; queue the depression. It's moments like this that really test my inner strength. I care for my brother, but when he's here I don't exist. And it's like I'm a young child again, trying desperately to get attention and affection from my parents to no avail. I try to join in, but my voice gets lost in their disinterest. I might as well be talking to a wall. 

  That's the worst thing about child trauma, it never goes away; you only get use to the pain. All I can do to stop myself from breaking down in tears is writing; write all the pain down so it doesn’t burst out of me all at once. My whole life has been a battle with my brother that I’ll never win. I’ll always be the outcast. I’m so thankful I turned to the internet instead of suicide. I dived into psychology and learned as much as I could. When I finally came to realize that what happened to me was in fact abuse; it brought me to tears, but also I was relived. I thought I was crazy and too sensitive, but no…my parents abused me. They treated me like an object; a trash can, to dump all their negativity and hate. And what’s worse is when I leave to the sanctuary of my room, they get hostile because I’m not there to play the designated role I was assigned at birth.