Monday
My dad always told me I was too sensitive. I hated when he said that because it invalidated my feelings. I couldn’t figure out how to not be sensitive. It was just part of my make up. To this day, I hate that I’m sensitive. I can put a post on social media and if I don’t get enough response within the first couple hours, I’ll delete the post and recoil into self-loathing. I still need validation - and so often, I look for it in the wrong place. Today has been one of those days. One of those weeping-in-the-shower, I hate myself types of mornings. Some might call me bipolar. Nah, I’m just sensitive. I’m still a kid wanting his parents’ approval. I recently emailed my mom and she responded kindly…yet she told me my dad will send another email soon. I’m guessing he’s waiting until next Monday, my birthday (this is how they often do it). He’ll tell me how I ruined everything…how it was my fault that my biological family turned against me…he’ll tell me how evil I am for reading