Note: This is something I wrote a long time ago, in like early October of 2024… the date on the doc says 10/6/2024. Do I still feel this way? It’s gotten better, but there are definitely still moments where I come back to this mindset & I can’t see anything else, bc well, I got my stubbornness from the parent in this letter. Anyways.

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Dear Parent,

Listen. Just hear me out.

You tell us to listen. You tell us to listen, but half the time you don’t listen to us. We’re supposed to respect you, but you don’t respect us. We’re supposed to trust you, but you barely trust us. I’m supposed to do what you tell me to do, but oh wait you’re a hypocrite so _do what I’m told, not what you do_.

Except I can’t tell you you're a hypocrite to your face or I’ll get in major trouble & you’ll label me as _disrespectful_ in that moment.

We’re supposed to go to you for help, but half the time you give us some sarcastic answer in response, & the other times I’m yelled at for being my age & not knowing what something means. & then I’m told to go look it up & you don’t help me at all. But when I go try to solve the problem on my own, I get in trouble for not going to you for help bc you know _I’m only my age & I’m not expected to know everything_. Everything excluding all the words in the dictionary.

So then I don’t know what to do or how to get help, so on the most important things I just leave them be & don’t do anything bc hey if I self-diagnose myself I’ll get told off but none of you are doing anything bc if you ignore it it’ll solve itself & then there won’t be a problem, right??! Wrong.

You say I don’t comprehend anything, bc I’m either not listening to you, ignoring you, or not comprehending what you’re saying & you’d like to think I’m not ignoring you & listening to you. Stop giving me the benefit of the doubt for that. It keeps me out of trouble, but it leads you on. I’m not that innocent.

I haven’t had a good relationship w/ you since we moved from the city. No, I wouldn’t blame that on Logan. But honestly? It wasn’t even piano that made our relationship so bad, it was you. All your yelling, your screaming, the memories I have from such a young age, the amount of pain they bring back is why I block them out. You have no remorse for any of my tears. I just realized that. You’re like a toxic ex, if I ever had one. You would yell at me, emotionally abuse me until I saw spots in my vision from crying & staring at the wall, & STILL you didn’t care. You just insisted I practice the piano.

They all say it’ll get better.

But I’M the one supposed to change, I’M supposed to be the bigger person??! YOU’RE THE PARENT!!!! YOU’RE the godd**n F**KING PARENT & I’m the child. The teen. The teen who has the emotional battery of an introverted child bc I don’t know how to control my emotions bc I was a water well when I was younger bc NO ONE GAVE A F**K IF I CRIED. no one changed. That’s not on me. That’s on you.

I will change once you change. I will move out, likely never text you again unless I absolutely need you, & this parent-daughter relationship will turn into me & a stranger. You will likely be the person who I pretend not to know when I’m going somewhere bc you might be my parent but you didn’t care like your spouse did. Or if you did, you never showed it.

Everyone knows. Everyone knows that I’m the one who gets yelled at the most, I’m the one who gets the worst of your temper, & everyone else just sometimes gets caught in the middle. Your spouse is tired of you yelling at them bc they happen to be standing in between us? try being the person you’re always yelling at. I don’t feel loved. Not by you. You might say you love me unconditionally, but truth be told, I really don’t. I don’t. I can’t remember the last time I told you I love you. I can’t remember the last time I hugged you. I have a better relationship w/ my aunts & uncles & my friends’ parents than I do w/ you. My teachers have made up the role that I can’t go to you for bc you don’t even try to understand.

You are the cause of most of my dark songs, & even though I haven’t released them, & I might never release them, I see my lonely, already affection-deprived first/second grade self in the girl in At the Ballet. Though I was eight or nine, though I was eight or nine, though I was eight or nine-! I hated her. Except I was probably six or seven when I realized I could never love you how you claim to love me.