A letter to my Dad

I want you to know that I have spent almost every night angry since moving out. I’ve never been good at spite or resentment. Yet I sit here every single night so fucking mad. I know that no body is perfect. Parents aren’t ment to be. I have a sneaking suspicion that most of the other students here do not spend their nights silently screaming because they do not know what love feels like. I don’t think they struggle to order fucking food because the servers looked them in the eye. I don’t think they cry when they hear someone yell. I am alone, and I am mad, and I am stuck in a family that broke me and doesn’t even remember. I feel crazy. I feel insane. I hear someone knock on my door too hard and can’t remember how to breathe.
 I am angry that living on my own is so fucking easy.
I am angry that the hardest part of my day is dealing with the fear that everyone hates me and that I will never be enough.
I am angry that I do as many favors for my friends as possible because I don’t want anyone to be mad at me.
I am angry that I stand at my door waiting for there to be no noise because I don’t want to be screamed at.
I am so angry.

And I hope my little brother never feels any of this because I am drowning.

I don’t drink because I’m scared that I’ll like it too much to ever stop.