Line in The Sand.

I don’t have anything scathing or petty so say. I suppose I’m just not as scathing and petty like some ruthlessly mean people there are out there. Okay, totally a lie. But I’ve accepted that you’re going to hell for your selfishness. And that I’m headed there too because of all this hatred inside me, mostly of which I harbour exclusively you, sister dearest. But it’s all fine. As long as I don’t have to burn in the eternal flames of damnation anywhere near you, it should be just peachy.

It’s ridiculous people can say that friends or boy/girl friends come and go but family is the one who’ll stick with you to the end. I mean they keep saying family’s the one that gets you out of the tough spots in life, right? The ones who are there for you when you need them? No, not really, not my family. And certainly not my sister. If I depended on them to get me through the day, I’d never exist at all. Because truth of the fact is, mommy and daddy never wanted me and darling sister dearest clearly never asked for a younger sister for Christmas neither.

So you see, Damon Salvatore’s got it right really, because “the only person I can depend on.. is ME!.”

But I digress. What’s funny is that everything seem to have an alternate connotation. Maybe it’s your warped and twisted way of viewing life. Or maybe you’re just well acquainted to manipulative scheming to get what you want. But I cry because I’m pissed. And I’m pissed because as much as un family value-ish we’ve always been, I keep telling myself that family does mean something. Apparently not.

So the tears are there for the simple uncomplicated fact of this thing called emotion. It’s not a trick, not a ploy or a ruse of a petulant young child who throws a tantrum to get what she wants. So you can throw the damned thing at me with as much abhorrence as you want, I DON’T want it. Not anymore. And especially not from you. I’ll make my own way. No need for your-royal-fucking-highness-I-must-fucking-kiss-the-bloody-floor-you-walk-on-and-worship-even-the-vaguest-sounding-burp-you’ve-ever-sounded’s help.

So yep, that’s my great life story. The secrets out, ladies and gentlemen, cat’s out of the bag, alert the media! I didn’t grow up with the whole amazing childhood where I played out in the yard with my older sister as she taught me things and looked out for me. It’s not my life. Because truth of the fact is, this person that I share some similar DNA with is just a heartless bitch who loves a piece of tin her bff got her more than she cares for her own flesh and blood sister.

That’s just that.

And this is where it ends.

Because whenever you needed help or needed a bunch of teens to fill out psych forms for your school research, or needed nail polish remover that you never fucking return, or borrow a fucking book only to return it reluctantly eons later with creases on the spine, or borrow a blazer to return it months later, or wake me up to shift my car in motherfucking wee hours in the morning, I did it. All of it.

And when I point them out when you decide not to pull your weight in the favour department, you said you never made me do those things and I never had to do them. Except I did, because you may be the older one, but you stamp your little feet like a child at a toy store being told she can’t have something when the world doesn’t revolve around you and kow tow to your precious little wants and needs.

So you know what? I won’t ask anymore. For anything.

And if you need anything from me anytime in the future again, you can go on right to hell. Your precious little fountain can ride shotgun.

Bad as it sounds, when I give, I expect to take. If you can’t then deal with those terms, then screw you. Because it’s called a sense of self preservation. And that holds true to the rest of the freaking world too. So good luck out there. I hope you have a good cushy life ahead of you, like you’ve had for the twenty fucking three years of your life, and good luck in finding someone who can fucking stand your incessant selfish neediness and greed to take, take, take and take.

Because this, this is where it ends. This is where I draw the god damn line.

“There is a thin line that separates laughter and pain, comedy and tragedy, humor and hurt.”
Erma Bombeck

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