That's the thought I'm plagued with every time I am acknowledged by her. Someone who used to think the world of me but now, to her I've become another one of her "children". But I am not.
Today, I have been disowned. The feeling of worthlessness like garbage left for strays overcomes me yet I must deal. Memories of being denied a home by this "parent" keep replaying in my mind. Put into a system of misunderstandings and diagnoses. Written off as a "fuck-up", a disturbed and troubled child. Still, I must deal with the pain of emotional neglect brought on by days of unexplained beatings and "no dinner for you, go to your room" nights.
I have failed her. Children are dependent on not only your materialistic care (i.e. shelter, clothing, food, education) but your love, your heart. Large Christmas' and birthday parties are only entertaining as long as I stay out of her hair, and kitchen, room, eyesight, air. Locking myself in my room with a Dr. Seuss book to my right and a Barbie to my left trying to decide whether to clothe her or re-read "Green Eggs and Ham".
But I have failed her. At 23, I am neglected...again.
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