I'm not too short of a failure. People talk to me like I'm two years old and it makes me lash out. I hate myself more than I hate anyone else and besides myself I hate two people specifically. I hate my mother so much. I truly hate this woman. She talks about her seven sons, but never her three daughters. She talks about her first born son, but never her first child (which would be me). She talks about her boys. She talks about their progress. Their lives. She has no pictures posted of my sisters or of me. She kicked me out multiple times when I lived with her. 18 was the final straw for me and that's when I went to NYC and lived with my aunt. I never knew how a person was supposed to live until I got there. Things I should have known I didn't. Like showering everyday or making sure I ate something besides dinner. My mom never brought me clothes when I lived with her. For two years I had the same wardrobe. A shirt my friend had given me when I was in the mental hospital, two pairs of jogging pants and a school uniform. Which was one pair of pants and a shirt to go with it. My brothers always got their things whether she brought them or got hand-me-downs from someone else or even took them to a thrift shop. Most of the time they didn't appreciate it, but when I told her I needed underwear or a pair of socks I never got them unless my dad sent them. My dad sent me $200 for me to graduate (cap & gown, outfit and other important things). My mom stole that from me. I never saw it. He didn't want to send it to my mom's name because he knew I would never see it. And I didn't. It took him four months to make $200 in his situation for me to graduate and I never saw a penny. My mom didn't tell me. Her boyfriend did. He told me they spent that money on liquor. I just sat in the car in silence because he knew as well that I needed that money to graduate. And then I got lucky. All those years of being the quietest kid in school. My school nurse noticed that I hadn't gotten anything for graduation and they (guidance counselors, nurse, principal, some teachers I had) paid for everything. The nurse was my best friend at that school. I went to her all the time for venting, being sick, health tips. We even had a contest to see who could lose the most weight by the end of the year (she won by mere pounds). She and my aunt were the only two that ever asked me if I was okay and actually listened when I spoke. It's weird because no matter what happened in my life I still blame myself for the failures. Most of the things that happen in my life are no one's fault, not mine, not my mom. They are just a collection of unlucky crap that has happened as a result of someone else's fuck up. But I'm so tired. I keep saying this, but I really hope this move to Colorado helps me get in a good mind set. I hope it does because I don't want to keep feeling so broken because it's tearing me down. It keeps bringing hatred into my mind and it keeps deteriorating the small amount of energy I have. And I'm running out- it feels like.