I just wish I could learn to stop respecting the people who make me feel the worst, who really just get to me, and those who don’t even know it. 

There are days where I have the blessing of getting to live in the conjured-up world that I’ve made for myself, believing that life is good, people can be pure, and that there is hope for the future. And then once in a blue moon, a pebble finds its way catapulted into my glass fortress, cracking it, so that I see a glimpse of the world I hide myself from. There is no justice in this world, and there is no hope. At this point, it’s just a matter of how long I can hold onto the glass, though it rips through my flesh, to keep my illusion alive. 

I just want my sisters and brother back. But instead, here comes another six months of hearing my mom cry.