Dear hurts...
This is just a note. A letter to you all who don't see me. Those who only want me when they need me. I'm sorry that I'm apprently not good enough for you. That I don't make enough money, that I can't take over more of your payments. I'm sorry that you feel like I don't do enough. This hurts me deeply. I like to think that I help somewhat, that I deserve a chance to be. Yet you say I'm a child who doesn't take resposibility for anything.
I clean your kitchen, wash the dishes you eat off of. I feed and clean up after the cats that we all share. I clean your bathroom. I shovel the driveway and mow the lawn. I pay for my own way so you won't have to pay for me. I do errands for you, try to help when you need me to. Yet, it's not enough. I'm a lazy child who needs to be told what to do. I don't do enough around the house, I'm not working or saving enough. In short, I'm strange to you.
I worked 4 til 10:30 last night, dealt with rude strangers, including a drunken woman who told me that I was a stupid employee because I did not know how to change the register tape in the register I don't normally work in. I then came back to work at 7:55 this morning, after restless sleeping and waking up at six-forty-five. I worked for eight hours, dealing with the rude yet again. I come home, and you expect me to clean up after you all, when you didn't do a damn thing all day, except maybe go to the store. You got angry with me for trying to help someone out that needed me, because I didn't start my chores yet. Angry at me for the house not being clean. I did the favor, came home, and cleaned the kitchen and all the dirty dishes from last night. I scrubbed the bathroom. Took out the trash, made sure the pets were fed, and then, because you don't want me to do laundry on my day off, you made me wash my clothes tonight. Then clean my room. After that, only then was I able to eat dinner. Because of you, I ate only a sandwich from eight this morning until almost nine tonight. And I couldn't touch what you deemed was your food.
Yet I don't sacrifice enough for this family. I'm a hateful child who needs more to do, and more punishment. I need to do all these for you, without thanks, because you want me to.
And you wonder why I never want to be home. Why I hate it here so damn much.
Sometimes you make me hate myself, too...and I wish that I never lived.
Pathetic, isn't it?
I clean your kitchen, wash the dishes you eat off of. I feed and clean up after the cats that we all share. I clean your bathroom. I shovel the driveway and mow the lawn. I pay for my own way so you won't have to pay for me. I do errands for you, try to help when you need me to. Yet, it's not enough. I'm a lazy child who needs to be told what to do. I don't do enough around the house, I'm not working or saving enough. In short, I'm strange to you.
I worked 4 til 10:30 last night, dealt with rude strangers, including a drunken woman who told me that I was a stupid employee because I did not know how to change the register tape in the register I don't normally work in. I then came back to work at 7:55 this morning, after restless sleeping and waking up at six-forty-five. I worked for eight hours, dealing with the rude yet again. I come home, and you expect me to clean up after you all, when you didn't do a damn thing all day, except maybe go to the store. You got angry with me for trying to help someone out that needed me, because I didn't start my chores yet. Angry at me for the house not being clean. I did the favor, came home, and cleaned the kitchen and all the dirty dishes from last night. I scrubbed the bathroom. Took out the trash, made sure the pets were fed, and then, because you don't want me to do laundry on my day off, you made me wash my clothes tonight. Then clean my room. After that, only then was I able to eat dinner. Because of you, I ate only a sandwich from eight this morning until almost nine tonight. And I couldn't touch what you deemed was your food.
Yet I don't sacrifice enough for this family. I'm a hateful child who needs more to do, and more punishment. I need to do all these for you, without thanks, because you want me to.
And you wonder why I never want to be home. Why I hate it here so damn much.
Sometimes you make me hate myself, too...and I wish that I never lived.
Pathetic, isn't it?