I don't think I was truly born to be human, but rather to be inanimate. I wasn't the desired person. From the start, I was the wrong child. Not sick enough to deserve love. Not special enough to be noticed... I was just an expense, a burden. I was just some kind of household trash that couldn't be thrown away... My parents didn't hate me, they simply didn't see me. They didn't look at me... and if they did... I only saw looks of disgust and the feeling that I was just a burden, something they wanted to get rid of... and I swear that if I disappeared one day, they wouldn't notice. Or care.
They only had my sister, sick, and adored. She was their goal. She was the only person whose happiness they cared about. While I was just the sound of the TV static. That song that, when you hear it, makes you feel uncomfortable. A heavy soul on the heart. Love didn't live in our house for me. It was only designed for my sister. I was never important...
School wasn't any better. I was the easy target—the quiet, the slow, the boy with the heavy eyes and the soft voice. I never fought back. I didn't know how. Laughing at my expense became everyone's routine; the boys' heavy talk about me was what made them laugh. Throwing trash on my desk and throwing water in my face was a comedy routine... I didn't even have to go; I was costing my parents... I stopped going altogether. But no one asked why. No one missed me. No one noticed my absence...
Eventually, my parents grew tired of my stillness. They grew tired of my emptiness... They grew tired of feeding a child who did nothing. They told me it was time to "be a man." I was thirteen. I started working because they told me I had to. I learned that the world has no patience for the unwanted. It only knows how to exploit them, crush them, and break their wings...
so, I understood that I was a sin... in a world that never wanted me. Mercy never looked my way...