It seems that the more stress I have to deal with, the less I want to eat.
I feel full, yet I have not eaten today.
So I should write down my “meal plan.”

We’re broke = breakfast
Auntie might lose her job = lunch
Can’t afford summer school = snack
Wanting to die but not wanting to leave everything else behind = dinner
Wanting it to get better = Dessert

I live with my aunt and uncle and my three cousins.

An eleven year old (almost twelve)
Her and I share a room, she can’t stop sneaking food

A six year old
His room is beside ours, he wets his bed constantly.
He throws fits and is so confused about life.

A two year old
She is in the room across the hall with her mother and father.
Luckily, my uncle is her birthfather.
She says no a lot, but I guess that’s a good thing in a way.

My aunt and uncle fight sometimes, they have been married since 2008.

My aunt, she is a sweet normal mother, she doesn’t know what she’s doing wrong.
Nothing

My uncle is a hard ass, but he is pretty cool.

They are both pretty strict.

Me: I’m a gender-queer thingy living in their house, frustrated with the fact that nothing will ever be better unless EVERYONE fucking does something.
I am forever filled with angst and hate for my family that I love.
I look fine I guess.
I’m not obese, I’m not abnormal.
I’m not covered with a bunch of signs saying I’m a fucking freak.
So why do I feel like everyone is so determined to make me hard to find.
I don’t want to die.
I don’t want to starve.
I don’t want to bleed.
I want to be happy.
Just for once for fuck-sakes.