hidden cracks that don't show/ but that constantly just grow

i've never felt like i was really a part of this family, without my dad around. if there was an award for greatest dad in the world, he'd definitely lose. he kept me on a pretty short leash. but he was a good guy. even if i hated him for my lack of freedom, once i realized there was such a thing out there, he did really care about me. which is more than i can say about the other people in this family.

when i was three, i started feeling like i didn't quite fit into our family. half-brothers, half-sisters, and me. my mother's family, my father's family, and me. see, they're not my family. they're separate groups that were formed before i was born, and didn't have room for me. it was probably because i didn't feel like my mother and i got along. in spite of that, i tried to play the role of the good daughter. after all, i was the only child they both had together. but i still didn't completely feel like i fit in.

when i was six, i got a diary for my birthday. i wrote so many warped things in there. but the first really long entry in it was a complaint about how my mother had told me to carry a grocery bag full of oranges, while my older sister was told to just run up the stairs with bread. the elevator in our apartment building was off that day too. my arms were sore; oranges are really fucking heavy, you know. i told my diary my mother was playing favorites, that she didn't care what happened to me, and that it didn't matter if i complained or not because nothing would change. or so i thought. i told my dad what happened that night, and he listened quietly before telling me that my mother didn't care about me. he said her other children were her first priority (which was and still is true), and that i needed to be very careful about what i said and did to her.

not really the kind of thing you tell your child about your partner. i'm sure the only reason they never got divorced was me. i remember argument after argument as a child. the topics are irrelevant. but each time they began to get a little too serious, a little too loud, a little too angry, i would begin crying uncontrollably. once i even screamed. only once. we lived in an apartment, after all. i stopped doing that after i got the diary, but i started sleeping less and threw myself into my schoolwork. but i digress.

a few weeks ago, while cleaning the house, i began taking down my pictures and hiding them away. i didn't realize what i was doing until i was finished cleaning. it just didn't feel right, deep inside me. pictures of my mother, my half-sister and i side by side. well, technically, it was one picture of me, and my high school diploma. still, i found the other pictures of me and put them away. no one noticed. that just reinforces the thought in my mind, that i'm not really a part of this family. (one of these things is not like the other things.) what started off as a hairline fracture has turned into something worse. something irreparable. it's definitely not the kind of damage that can be fixed. as far as i'm concerned, i've been pushed away and i'll never come back.

so my only half-brother (from my mother) had his first child. and my mother's all like, "i'm a granny, hooray". and i'm all like, "couldn't give a shit." and she's like, "we're going to drive to a whole other state to bring them here and stay with us for a few days." and i'm like, "couldn't give a shit." and she's like, "don't you care about your nephew?" and i'm like, "i have five other half-siblings from my dad, four of which have been having kids since i was child. a new nephew means nothing to me. couldn't give a shit."

so they're leaving today. setting out to pick up my brother, his woman, and his spawn. i had a nightmare about the five of them (my brother, his woman, the baby, my mother, and my sister) sitting around laughing. it's one of few dreams i've ever had that i wasn't in. if i was in it, obviously no one cared that i was there, so it amounts to the same thing. i don't want to sound fucked up, but i don't care about this stupid ankle biter. this baby can go fuck itself for all i care. so can my half-brother, half-sister, and my mother. the woman, i don't know well enough to hate. but they can all take an express hand-basket to hell.

i don't want to share my space with a bunch of people i don't know, who don't know me. you should already know what i plan to do. after i finish this, i'll probably go brush my teeth, wash my face, drink a liter of water, and then put on a happy face. i'll pretend to be happy the entire time they're here. i'll hover on the edges of their consciousness, little more than a ghost. but still there enough to not be accused of insensitivity. i'll watch them interact. i'll watch them move the way people do when they care about each other, so the synthetic sympathy i receive on a regular basis is easier to recognize. and every time someone smiles, i'll feel more out of place.

the chances of this child and i ever spending time together after this are slim to none. just like all the other children my other siblings have had. so forgive me for not being overjoyed that it exists. that won't change anything for me. except my level of self-loathing, maybe. any conversations with me will be obligatory on their part. after all, i do still live here. but it's not like anybody cares, so... i'll play along. being mean is just a waste of time.

i can't wait for this to be over. i hope i can last.

honestly.