It shouldn’t be easier to live at home while I’m medicated.

   I shouldn’t have to cry in my room ‘cause I hate my brother, and my mother always thinks I’m in the wrong.

   If he starts the fight, and I yell back all I get is “Got to your room and take your medication”. Should a mother say that to her daughter?

   Should a teenager be happy to leave home, and be too broke to drive back home on a regular basis.

   Should she have to worry that her mother will say things about how much better it is when she’s gone.

   This can’t be right, I’m so ready to be gone, and I’m ready to leave.

   I want out of this house, and this environment, and I never want to come back.

   I want that fictional road trip to come so much sooner than never.

   He opens up about everything to me, but I;m so scared to tell him that this is how I’m living. I don’t want him to know I come from a broken home. I don’t want anyone to know. But it’s hard to hide.

   I feel like I’m being selfish, ‘cause I could be worse off, but I feel it. I hate being at home, I hate living with the people I live with.

   I HATE IT.

   I cry myself to sleep more often than not, simply because I physically hate my brother, and I am always at fault.

   “You’re stupid, Phylicia, I’m smarter you don’t know what you’re talking about”

   “You’re stupid, Trevor.”

   “Phylicia don’t say that, go to your room”

   Thats how it always pans out. No matter what happens I’m at fault. She claims I need to treat her better because I say “shut the fuck up” and she tells me not to use that language. I still say it.

   How is that not treating her well?

   I do my chores, I do my homework, I’m actually graduating, I’m going to college (a real college), I don’t run off without telling her, I have a job, I make my car payments, I pay my insurance.  But she tells me I can’t creatively paint my lap top because it was a gift, I didn’t pay for it.

   I’m covered in paint so it’s stupid.

   I finish an AP project, but it could be better.

   I’m held to such a high standard, why? Because I tried and I was the good kid, but I can never do anything like she wants.

   We’re going broke but has she made Trevor get a job, no. I worked over 40 hours on Spring Break, but no I don’t get to enjoy my money, I have to pay her.

   “No I need to be paid, have you even paid me this month”

   450 dollars this month all to her. My car payment 209, my insurance payment 123. That’s only 331, and she bitches about me not paying her. I gave her over a hundred extra.

   I hate it here.

   I can feel sad all day, and talking to him makes me feel better. It that because I have to fake happy to help him in his sever depression? Or because he makes me happy? A mixture of both, but it turns out good.

   He said “I love you” today. Only as a friend, and I usually get all sketch about that, even friends, so more happy than fake?

   My life, as I’ve lived, is fucked. I can’t wait for Fort Collins. It won’t come soon enough.