Family is soul crushing. Family is despair. Family is loyalty without honesty. Family is the impossible combination of all the lives you’ll never lead and all the people you’ll never be. The pressures of the personalities in my family wear me down. Wear me thin. My sister always says, you have to let people be. You have to let them be who they are. Who they want. And I remind her that I have this ability to see through people all the way to their core, to their potential, to the person they should be.
So much of my life has been lived via family. Within family. It’s hard for me to take a step back and regurgitate it. But my family has molded me. Whatever they lack, I equip myself with. Whatever they joke about, I take seriously. Whatever they can’t explain, I rationalize. I know it’s shitty. For me to be the missing piece of the puzzle, but you know that’s how I decipher this shit. I fit in where I can. I blend so well it’s inevitable that I fill in the empty spaces. With my soft self.
I love it and I hate it. So many times I’m the one that’s non judgmental. I’m the one that’s kind and accepting and wholesome. And while that’s all good and fine. I don’t know how to say to them, you left me no choice but to be this one. But to fill this void. I’m so sorry. You’ve created a monster. And I carry their mistakes around like trophies I didn’t fairly earn. Like a cheating lying scoundrel. My life has not been my own, but instead it has been a collection of my family’s lives. I guess that’s fair. I’d like to think that’s the purpose of a family, of the way it should be. You live and learn from your unit. I try to be more than the sum of my parts, but maybe there’s not much there. Maybe I’m okay with that.