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Oct 2015
When I was seven years old,
I had a bike. I was still on training wheels, I was embarrassed about that.

I was lonely
my mother did not treat me right.
I had no friends.
I never went out.

I wanted to
run away.
I stuffed a giant pillow in the
basket and
pedaled 'till the end of the road.

I hadn't gone past there yet.

What if I did?

I could be free.

But..
had she even noticed I was gone?
Did she think I was okay, happy? Did she care at all?

My only use to her
was to distract her with my needs.
I was a game to play when she was sick of loneliness.
She would cling to me, selfishly,
desperately. I did not understand why she would
weep
I did not understand why she would
hug me, I was uncomfortable, I disliked her.
I wanted her to get away from me.
I never felt like
she loved me.

Would she had cared at all if I left?

I concluded she wouldn't.

And it was
that same conclusion
that made me stay.
"She wouldn't care if I was gone, what's the point?"

"She doesn't care about me,
but
I can't survive
without
her."

So I
went back


and said nothing.
L
Written by
L  28/Non-binary
(28/Non-binary)   
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