you think you understand me because of the size of my home that comes from my fathers money you think i grew up privileged harbouring a “normal” childhood without any shortcomings.
what you don’t understand is the abuse, emotional neglect and fear experienced at the hands of my angry father that caused me to become this way.
you think i’m happy, normal even, because i don’t talk about what goes on in my brain the racing thoughts that consume me, the trauma memory that replays in my head, the suicidal thoughts, voices that repeat just do it over and over and how i cry every time im alone in the bathroom.
i'm afraid to open up like i had in the past because every single time ended in abandonment, followed by slit wrists and regret.
but, maybe one day i'll tell you all about it and hope you stay.