Not me

–Claire Shephard! That was the scream, cloaked in mania, that filled the room with sound, as it always did...

Then I heard the door burst open with an unpredictable force, almost shattering on impact. I hadn't thought my room door would withstand multiple arguments, but it did.

Then she continued:

–I can't believe you burned your dad's car! This is unacceptable! Despite the fact that we gave you food and a roof! I adopted you only because we didn't know if we would have kids.

Even the dog was fed better, but it doesn't matter. I didn't have to control my emotions, since I didn't feel anything at all. It's all repetitive. She is my tutor, not my mother, I never felt that she was trying to offer me love or justice, she didn't even try.

Whenever my little brothers got into trouble or did something wrong, she would blame me. I don't know how, after thousands of times when "justice" was served in our mother's way, I'm still suffering from those situations. I hoped she would realize, one day, that I wasn't worthless.

–But...

–What!? You complain about everything! My real children would never do that! Tonight you will sleep outside.

First, they break you mentally. They make you feel emotions that can’t be put into words, like you were just an intruder among perfect people, the only dark cloud in a sunny sky. They fill you with rage. Like she said—only her real children deserved love, not an intruder like me.

Then, they lock you in the basement with no food or light, or they leave you in the middle of a sinister forest, surrounded by wolves and bears, just for their amusement. Even some animals are more soft-hearted than them.

I present to you the perfect family that makes me want to rip my flesh off.

So I went out to sleep under the open sky tonight, covered by the satisfied smirks of my brothers, but it didn't seem that I offered them enough of a show even when I crawled back to the door with my knees bleeding to see if someone would take pity and let me in. They were used to it they wanted more. They'd rather see something that looks like gore.

I had tried to stand up for myself before, but as punishment, to make sure I remember my place, they inflicted pain, leaving cuts on my arms.

I had a little hallowed space in the corner of the garden, a kind of a bunker that I dug-out just a little bit on a Sunday, a place where, honestly, I felt at home, the one I never had. Where no one judges me and I can feel free like a bird flying above the vastest city in the world, like someone who had never had to experience repression or anxiety.