I grew up with a big family. That seemed to shrink. Addiction and fights. My family was never just "alright" Nobody ever understood social cues. My family was just holding on. And I was the glue. Although they never told me the truth. They couldn't protect my youth. I always wondered why my family was so crazy I always thought they blamed me. Maybe? Looking back, I realise I was wrong. I was just a little girl all along. I wasn't really allowed to see much of my mums side. Maybe because every time I brought it up, she cried. My grandma and grandad on her side were the only ones who stayed by my side. Until they unfortunately died. By their graves, I lied. My life was all over the place. Like a kid falling in an egg and spoon race. All I ever needed was space. My mum had a lot of siblings. The more the merrier? Or so I thought. My mum was used. Any life in her was drained. I couldn't stand to see her holding in all this pain. Scattered across my family line. I became good at telling lies. The tears that hid behind my eagle eyes. I went to therapy at a young age. Mainly because my childhood was filled with rage. My parents were always back and fourth. Me and my 4 brothers in the middle. Life felt like a riddle. I was fed up with being stuck in the middle. Childhood issues. Constantly needing tissues. Only if you were in my shoes. 👨‍👩‍👧‍👦👨‍👩‍👧👩‍👦👧