I watched my childhood home videos. It opened my eyes to who I am. I am the scapegoat, the lost child, always in the background, my voice never mattering more than what the grownups wanted out of me. As long as I was sitting quietly, acting cute, learning to do new things as a baby, I was welcome. But with the pain behind my eyes and the longing for attention in every episode that was fully centered around my brother, I was slowly dying. When my sister snapped annoyedly at me for not behaving in line, I sneered devilishly at her and continued. I had no sense of being enough as I was. The only times I enthused about anything was when we were being treated with toys or snacks. It hit me that my mother only saw me as a tool for her interest when, as a 9 month old baby I sat coldly in her arms as she tossed me around and used me as a pawn for my 2 year old brother to show affection to, that when he hugged me my face scrunched up in pain at human touch. But they didn't notice it, and my...
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