Family

Family.

This one simple word can spark a warm smile that swells from you’re chest as you recall fond memories of chasing you’re younger siblings around the yard and letting out gleeful noises indicating that you were god’s favorite child.

This word can also spark feelings of disappointment in the the very pit of you’re stomach, or the loneliest feeling that you could never find the words to describe. Unlucky in life, you ask yourself, “Why is god fucking with me?”

Most of us fall under the dysfunctional side of the spectrum.

Personally, I’ve never been terribly close to either of my parents.

One parent only cared about showing me off like a toy and never being there, while the other just blames me for everything wrong in their life.

My oldest brother always said I lucked out in the parent department, I never really knew what he meant until recently.

When I think of my family-well, I never want to tell them a damn thing about me again.

Truth is, family isn’t only about blood. It’s about who really shows up for you when you need them to. Or, when you don’t. It’s nice to feel included. Valued. Loved.

Maybe my friends and my boyfriend are the only people I’ll ever truly receive that from.

Maybe I’ll always carry this with me.

Maybe I was born to give love, more than be on the other end of it.