I cant even listen to this poem the whole way through I cringe so hard. In this life it seems we give all our love to those who have no intention of holding it. That's the thing though. I didn't love my family of origin, I was trauma-bonded to them. I had absolutely no sense of identity. My entire basis of self-worth was wrapped around my idea of what useful was, and being that for them. All this led to was enabling those who refused to grow, taking on karma that wasn't mine, and confusing those left in the ashes of my growth. People can't accept new versions of you when it changes the ideas they have of their own identity. 

Yes, I do mean trauma-bonded, and I understand what that term means. Remain curious and double-check that you understand before saying my analysis of my experience is incorrect. Familial love will not have you collapsing in panic attacks because you 'abandoned' your younger siblings, especially after them saying they are done with you. Familial love will not leave you on your death bed when you are all used up. I hate that they don't appreciate the fact I did not give them a dead sister. I hate that I am selfish enough to want to be appreciated for sticking around. I hate that I've realized I don't even really like being around them anyways. A large part of the reason I did not die was because I did not want to spread my pain onto those left behind, those forced to live after me. I know it is each our responsibility to transmute our own pain and I am learning how to do so. 

I did not know the evil I was bringing into my younger siblings home when I brought in my college boyfriends. I was uncomfortable my entire childhood, and there is little difference between prolonged discomfort and abuse. Those who normalize discomfort often perpetuate abuse. If you want your daughter to be easily manipulated, normalize discomfort in her life. My father did a great job of this, my mother was a fantastic participant as well. Too scared to realize the hurt she was being dealt.

Notice the medical hair net covering my eyes in the cover photo. I was on valium right before surgery and it kept falling into my eyes. I giggled as I repeatedly tried to move it out of my face and my father took photos. About a decade earlier, there is a photo that reminds me of this. A photo of me sitting on my father's lap with a Mickey-mouse style Santa hat on my head. The brim of the hat was poking my eye and I kept figeting with it to get it out of the way. In the photo you can see my father holding both my hands still while the hat still scratches into my eye. All this photo- perfect love and nobody could see, in both instances, to just help me get the hat out of my eye. Nobody can be intuitive enough to love you in the ways you haven't learned how to speak up for yourself about, if they do not love themselves as deeply or intuitively. The amount of love you can feel from someone will always be less than the love they have the ability to offer themselves. Be very weary of those who have not learned how to love themselves. They will not love you in the ways you may expect, especially when you have a hard time articulating the boundaries or measures of which you'd like to be loved.