To My Younger Self

There is a joke that goes, “are you happy or are you the oldest daughter in a brown household?” Funny how that doesn't make me laugh anymore. Maybe I broke my sense of humor alongside my soul.

I tell myself that I chose to say yes, that the pressure I felt was imagined. Like the word emotional blackmail doesn't exist. Maybe I'll believe it someday.

I hate that I would probably have to pretend I do not have an aversion to touch. I hate that I will never know love. I hate that the first time I lose myself wouldn't be with a women like I dreamt. I hate him. I hate how he's everything I hate. But most of all I hate how I cant cry about this.

How I can't tell my family that every time they talk about this I want to die, how I can't tell my friends because they'd never get me, they never have.

This isn't a story, there won’t be a happy ending, I know this already. I can see this play out where I am a disappointment and we don't work out. I'd think death would be better but won’t do anything cause I'm the eldest.

I'm the eldest daughter in a brown household. We don't get to be happy instead we get to be saviors. I hope someone would save me.