You said, “Why don’t you do us all a favor and **** yourself?” like you were asking me to pass the salt, like it was casual, like it was nothing.
Just another Tuesday argument, just another slammed door, just another bruise made of words no one else can see.
We fight so much it feels like our default setting: raised voices in the morning, side-eyes in the hallway, petty little jabs that pile up in the corners like dust we never sweep.
My parents say, “That’s just siblings. You’ll grow out of it.”
But they weren’t there when you looked straight at me this morning, eyes hard and bored, like I was a channel you were done watching,
and said that sentence like you were spitting out gum.
You don’t know how those words land.
You don’t know that sometimes at night I stare at the ceiling and wonder if the world would really notice if I just stopped.
You don’t know how often I feel like a glitch, like an extra file taking up space.
You don’t know that when you say **** yourself."
you’re not just joking. You’re shaking a door I’m already leaning against with all my weight.
I told my friend, “Yeah, it’s normal atp,” like it was a meme, a punchline, something to laugh off with a “hahahaha it’s fine.”
Because if I say it’s fine enough times, maybe one day I’ll believe it.
We always argue. About stupid things, about serious things, about nothing at all.
But this one felt heavier. Like you found the exact spot I’ve been hiding and shoved your words into it.
You always say I’m the problem because I won’t let you lie.
You spin stories about other people, paint them however you want, step on their names like cracked shells on the sidewalk.
I can’t let it slide.
I step in, I correct you, I say, “That’s not what happened,” “That’s not fair,” “You can’t talk about them like that.”
You call it betrayal. You call it me “taking their side.”
But it’s not about sides. It’s about truth. It’s about respect.
I draw lines in the sand when it’s other people. I stand up when you’re cruel to them.
I won’t let you drag them through the dirt just because you’re mad.
But when it’s me?
When it’s my name in your mouth, my heart under your feet, my mind on the edge of a cliff you can’t see?
I go quiet. I let it happen.
You call me useless, annoying, overdramatic. You say I ruin everything. You tell me to disappear.
And I just stand there. Take it. Absorb it.
I become the sponge for your hate, so you don’t wring it out on anyone else.
I convince myself that if you’re busy breaking me, you’ll be too tired to break them.
I’m the one who lets you say whatever you want.
I tell myself I’m strong enough to hold it all.
But sometimes, when the house is quiet and my phone is dark, I replay your voice.
“Why don’t you do us all a favor and **** yourself?"
And the words don’t feel like a joke. They feel like a suggestion.
I wonder if you would even care if I listened. If you’d feel guilty, or just relieved.
Maybe you’d post something sad, pretend you never meant it, pretend we were close all along.
You don’t know how close I get to believing you.
Amber. Pink_Ink_Amber. Behind the usernames and rolled eyes and slammed cabinets,
I know you are more than this.
I have never seen you be kind.
You lie, you cheat, you deceive.... But Im sure there is kindness somewhere.
You make them laugh, sometimes at me, but I'm sure I will get over it.
I guess I just never make that list of people you love.
I’m the one who cares enough to stop you from becoming the villain in every story you tell.
I’m the one who tells you no when everyone else stays quiet.
I’m the one who will defend people who don’t even know I’m defending them from you.
But I won’t defend myself.
I let your words bruise me in places no one can see.
Because if I complain, I’m “too sensitive.”
If I get hurt, I “can’t take a joke.”
If I cry, I’m “doing too much again.”
So I laugh it off. I say, “Yeah lol, it’s fine.”
I tell my friends it’s normal. I tell myself it’s normal.
But today it doesn’t feel normal.
Today it feels like a line I watched you cross with your head held high and your hands clean.
One day, I hope you learn that words can be weapons.
That saying **** yourself” to someone isn’t funny, isn’t normal, isn’t just sister stuff.
One day, I hope you see how close your sentences came to the edge I live next to.
I hope you understand that I’m still here, not because of what you say,
but in spite of it.
And maybe one day, I’ll stop letting you say everything and call it love.
Maybe one day, I’ll start drawing lines for myself, too.
Apr 22
Apr 22, 2026 at 9:51 AM UTC
You said, “Why don’t you do us all a favor and **** yourself?” like you were asking me to pass the salt, like it was casual, like it was nothing.
Just another Tuesday argument, just another slammed door, just another bruise made of words no one else can see.
We fight so much it feels like our default setting: raised voices in the morning, side-eyes in the hallway, petty little jabs that pile up in the corners like dust we never sweep.
My parents say, “That’s just siblings. You’ll grow out of it.”
But they weren’t there when you looked straight at me this morning, eyes hard and bored, like I was a channel you were done watching,
and said that sentence like you were spitting out gum.
You don’t know how those words land.
You don’t know that sometimes at night I stare at the ceiling and wonder if the world would really notice if I just stopped.
You don’t know how often I feel like a glitch, like an extra file taking up space.
You don’t know that when you say **** yourself."
you’re not just joking. You’re shaking a door I’m already leaning against with all my weight.
I told my friend, “Yeah, it’s normal atp,” like it was a meme, a punchline, something to laugh off with a “hahahaha it’s fine.”
Because if I say it’s fine enough times, maybe one day I’ll believe it.
We always argue. About stupid things, about serious things, about nothing at all.
But this one felt heavier. Like you found the exact spot I’ve been hiding and shoved your words into it.
You always say I’m the problem because I won’t let you lie.
You spin stories about other people, paint them however you want, step on their names like cracked shells on the sidewalk.
I can’t let it slide.
I step in, I correct you, I say, “That’s not what happened,” “That’s not fair,” “You can’t talk about them like that.”
You call it betrayal. You call it me “taking their side.”
But it’s not about sides. It’s about truth. It’s about respect.
I draw lines in the sand when it’s other people. I stand up when you’re cruel to them.
I won’t let you drag them through the dirt just because you’re mad.
But when it’s me?
When it’s my name in your mouth, my heart under your feet, my mind on the edge of a cliff you can’t see?
I go quiet. I let it happen.
You call me useless, annoying, overdramatic. You say I ruin everything. You tell me to disappear.
And I just stand there. Take it. Absorb it.
I become the sponge for your hate, so you don’t wring it out on anyone else.
I convince myself that if you’re busy breaking me, you’ll be too tired to break them.
I’m the one who lets you say whatever you want.
I tell myself I’m strong enough to hold it all.
But sometimes, when the house is quiet and my phone is dark, I replay your voice.
“Why don’t you do us all a favor and **** yourself?"
And the words don’t feel like a joke. They feel like a suggestion.
I wonder if you would even care if I listened. If you’d feel guilty, or just relieved.
Maybe you’d post something sad, pretend you never meant it, pretend we were close all along.
You don’t know how close I get to believing you.
Amber. Pink_Ink_Amber. Behind the usernames and rolled eyes and slammed cabinets,
I know you are more than this.
I have never seen you be kind.
You lie, you cheat, you deceive.... But Im sure there is kindness somewhere.
You make them laugh, sometimes at me, but I'm sure I will get over it.
I guess I just never make that list of people you love.
I’m the one who cares enough to stop you from becoming the villain in every story you tell.
I’m the one who tells you no when everyone else stays quiet.
I’m the one who will defend people who don’t even know I’m defending them from you.
But I won’t defend myself.
I let your words bruise me in places no one can see.
Because if I complain, I’m “too sensitive.”
If I get hurt, I “can’t take a joke.”
If I cry, I’m “doing too much again.”
So I laugh it off. I say, “Yeah lol, it’s fine.”
I tell my friends it’s normal. I tell myself it’s normal.
But today it doesn’t feel normal.
Today it feels like a line I watched you cross with your head held high and your hands clean.
One day, I hope you learn that words can be weapons.
That saying **** yourself” to someone isn’t funny, isn’t normal, isn’t just sister stuff.
One day, I hope you see how close your sentences came to the edge I live next to.
I hope you understand that I’m still here, not because of what you say,
but in spite of it.
And maybe one day, I’ll stop letting you say everything and call it love.
Maybe one day, I’ll start drawing lines for myself, too.
#pink_ink_Amber #Suicide #hate #betrayal
