Sorry…

For the scars on my body which granted me life after my surgery at one day old.
For the constant crying that kept you up at night while I was healing.
For the worry that I made you feel as I was growing up.
For the concerns that always wondered your thoughts whenever you looked at me.

For clinging onto my dad more than you when I was little.
For becoming more interested in the things he had to offer.
For having interest in more “boy things” than you wanted.
For making it seem as if you had a son instead of a second daughter.

For being intrigued with “boy things” when I was growing up.
For being more comfortable in simple designs than flowers and frills.
For being aggressive and stubborn.
For being Dad’s favorite but the one you always wanted to change.

For growing up plain and simple, shy and quiet, stubborn and isolated.
For hiding my pain and questions, stories and remarks, and dreams and interests from you in fear that it would become yet another lecture on how I was suppose to be…the opposite of who I was.
For continuing to dress simple and plain, being comfortable in t-shirts and jeans instead of dresses and skirts.
For having interest in drums instead of the violin, math instead of science, etc.

For the scars I still have on my body; for my battle scars that got be this far.
For my mental health you never seemed to care about but always yell and pick on.
For my interests that don’t fit into your plan you had always envisioned for me.
For being myself instead of the girl you wish you had instead.

For the medications I have to take.
For all the doctor appointments you still argue to take me to.
For the worry that I cause you whenever something new comes along.
For the stress I put on you when my health becomes a financial burden to the family.

For my physical health – something you always yelled at me for, telling me to pray to god instead of trusting my doctors and taking the medicine or going through with procedures.
For my school life – something that I am trying my hardest to turn around, but still constantly get yelled for.
For my trust issues – that came from stories you never listened to.
For my depression – a mental illness you refuse to believe in or take seriously.
For my self-doubt – that you probably don’t even know about through all the listening you never did
For my anxiety – that you don’t know about
For my breakdowns – that you don’t know about
For my meltdowns – that you don’t know about
For my panic attacks – that you don’t know about
For my nightmares – that you don’t know about

For…my life…because it seems as if I have always been a burden and a disappointment to you.

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