I don’t like you.

You are the reason we can never do anything. You are the reason nobody can be happy without you spoiling it immediately. You are the reason why the three of us are constantly under so much pressure. You are the reason why I can’t tell her about my problems.

You are the reason I feel like shit, like a failure, like someone who has done nothing worth thinking of in their entire life. You and your constant habit of accidentally-on-purpose not understanding or hearing what I try to say are the reason for me having developed that stutter. You and your refusal to understand or acknowledge any form of humor are the reason why I have no idea how to survive conversations with anyone of my age. Your stubborn denying that not every human on earth is the same and that not everything a teenager should do is work all day without complaining or even flinching makes my developing depression grow faster and faster. Your refusing to “allow” me to do the one ever-so-small thing I’d like to do has been the thing that finally crashed my barely-existing self-confidence.

You refuse to listen to any attempt of conversation or mediation I try to start. You refuse to acknowledge I actually do have a thing called “free will”. You are the only one discriminating me for what I am and what I like, when you should be the last one to do so. 

I realize you are somewhat stressed, but you deny it and STILL make everyone else feel even worse than you feel yourself. Seventeen years and you still are not over the fact that a child doesn’t act like a robot.

And so much more.

Only today I have started putting into words what I think of you. This is the beginning of speaking up. This is the end of silence. This is the end, no matter what it might cost. This is the end. It is you and me, and the beginning and the end.