Note: As of now, I've lost any and all dedication to writing. Don't get me wrong, I'm not going to quit, but I'm sick of life in general.

I have very few true friends, one of whom is BookPrincess34. She is the sole reason why I am remotely sane. The rest of my "friends" use me, and I must admit that I am not exaggerating. Every day, there is always that one friend who praises how I am the sole reason they are passing the course. Nothing more. I have little, if any, interaction with them whatsoever outside of providing them with help. In fact, I have gone to events with my coworkers more than I have with my friends.

My family is a pain in the ass. Quite frankly, they don't love me. They mock my decisions in life, almost grounded me for life when they discovered me writing fics, and mentally and emotionally abuse me. I'll be honest, before I met BP, there was not a single night where I didn't cry myself to sleep. They hide their disgust at me behind faux concern, giving me a "choice" of what I can do, when there is only one option available. Even if I am allowed to choose, they go ahead and control my life as they please. Beatings have happened before, but ever since the CPS investigated us due to a (gratifying) mistake made by my sister, they have stopped.

To them, I am the bane of their ideals. I am not handsome, my face is riddled with scars that my father's genes provided. I am not tall enough, since I squandered my growing period staying up trying to impress them with my grades. I am not smart enough, since they always have a friend whose child is doing better than me. I am not strong enough, since I have a thin frame. To them, I am the amalgamation of everything that could possibly go wrong. They make no attempt to hide their disappointment anymore, openly shaming me in public and scorning me for hours. My home is no longer safe for me.

My only respite comes from talking to BP. Because of her, I have someone willing to back me up. Because of her, I have enough courage to not run away from home again and walk through the gate. Because of her, I know someone who can sympathize with me, since she has been through worse. Because of her, I am genuinely happy.

We talk about random things, we talk about a collab fic, we talk about each other, etc. It matters not the topic, but the fact that we are talking together is enough to ease our burdens. She has her demons, I have mine. Though we may end up crossing the line with each other occasionally, the knowledge of just how much shit we've been through allows us to move past this. In other words, she's basically my best friend at this point.

It is disheartening how my parents are almost antithetical to her. To them, I am the sole cause of all that is wrong. It matters not if someone else made a mistake, I am always the first to be blamed, the harshest punished, the last one to be forgiven or apologized to. To them, I don't deserve justice.

They insult me. They belittle me. They mock my dreams after demanding I tell them. They punish and scold me for doing what I am told to do. They humiliate me for trying to help out. They sneer at my attempts to fit their ideals, stare coldly at my attempts to make them proud, and mock me for being a useless son when I try to make them happy.

What hurts the most is that, deep down, a little innocent, broken, naive little piece of me is still waiting for them to say that they love me, that I have done something right in my life. To this day, I'm still waiting for a single genuine compliment, not a forced one in front of guests or teachers. To this day, I'm still waiting for them to accept that I cannot fit their ideals, that I am my own person. To this day, I'm still waiting for them to say I have made them proud.

To this day, I'm still waiting for them to consider me as a family member, not a fallback plan in case their lives become harder.

The mature aspect of me understands that I am not a member of the family. I have accepted that I will never be more than a pawn in their eyes, a piece that can be used to make them rise up in their retirement age. To those who assume this is a misconception, know that they have even bluntly stated they have kept a record of how much I have caused them to spend, and expect me to pay it all off once I grow up, interest as well.

The mature aspect of me understands that I will never be able to make them proud, no matter what I do. There will always be a someone earning more than me, someone looking better, someone smarter. Someone they wish was their son.

I know that I am not alone in this. Many of people exist out there who deal with the same bullshit as I do. But for the sake of this note, just bear with my selfishness for a moment.

Their treatment of me has warped my sense of reality. I am no longer capable of forming thoughts without imagining irrational futures which I know can never happen. In fact, I can't even tell as I'm typing this whether I'm focused on my words, or if my mind is wandering off to some fantasy to escape this dead world.

I suppose it isn't fair to blame them for everything. I consider myself an abomination, with their help of course. In fact, part of the reason for my hatred against myself stems from something similar to a short story I once wrote, titled Is It Wrong?

/The following short story was written based on events that occurred in my life. Believe it or not, nothing written is coincidental, and can be used to understand my situation further/

Synopsis: A boy wants an older sister, but as time passes by, he thinks about the choice he made.

Is it wrong?

I'm a simple boy in your average high school. I have friends, family that supports me (when they're not criticizing me), a decent house, a person that I like, etc.

I help out in my free time, I struggle with homework, and I get decent grades.

I'm also incredibly selfish.

Tell me, is it wrong for a person who has all this to complain? Especially in a world where millions of people can't get food or even time to think?

Maybe. But I gotta ask something.

Is it wrong for me to want something as simple as an older sibling?

Is it?

Don't get me wrong, I know there's no way I'll ever get an older sibling by blood. But what about fraternal siblings?

Is it too much for me to ask for someone to look after me, regardless of our differences? Is it wrong for me to want someone to rely on, a role model, an idol, someone who I see as a god or goddess?

Tell me, is it wrong?

I kinda stumbled through much of my life as a solitary kid. Don't get me wrong, I had friends, but I was always the third wheel, always the outsider.

It's kinda awkward, you know. You know that your friends are trying to accommodate you, but you also know that you're not wanted.

So you let them do as they want and watch from the shadows.

Was I wrong to do so?

One day, life changed for me when a family member came over to stay for a while. My cousin.

I dunno how old she was. Hell, I don't even remember how old I was when I first met her. But hey, can't complain when she agreed to be my surrogate big sister.

"Oh? Don't worry, just call me Sis!"

Yeah, I know. I'm weird. But really, is it wrong for me to want this?

Sis was everything I wanted. She helped me out, played with me, comforted me when I cried, everything a little kid wants.

To me, Sis was the first real friend I ever had.

But all good things come to an end.

After a month, Sis had to return back to her home. I can't describe how devastated I was.

It's like … a clench in your chest. You know, kinda like heartbreak. Except not, since that would be incest and that's creepy, right? But … was it wrong for me to feel depressed if Sis was going to leave me?

"Don't cry. One day, I'll be back!"

No matter how hard my parents tried, I was always gloomy after Sis left. I felt hollow and bitter, as if no one would ever play with me again.

One year later, Sis returned. I can't describe how happy I was.

You have to understand. Sis was … the perfect person, in my eyes. Sure, it's kinda weird considering I'm a guy and all, but … I really did admire her. Never did I see her cry. Never did I see her weak. To me, she was a goddess.

And yet, she still had to leave.

As time passed by, to chances for me to see Sis grew smaller and smaller. Eventually, I had to confront the idea that I would have to move on.

It's kinda cruel, really. What did I deserve to receive this? The first real friend I ever had, and I couldn't see her for more than a month or so.

It got me thinking.

Was it wrong for me to have such a selfish desire?

After Sis left when I was in fourth grade, it wouldn't be until eighth grade that I would see her again.

By then, I had made new friends. I had found people I could genuinely rely on, even if they were kinda weird. But that's fine. I'm weird too.

When I saw Sis again, inwardly, I was overjoyed. I hoped that everything would be like it had been before.

Why can't life ever be that simple?

Why … just why?

Sis no longer played with me. Sis no longer talked or even looked at me. Sis was always busy with something else.

It was to be expected. Sis was an adult now. She had college to worry about, she was still human after all.

Although my chest hurt when she left again, I gave that bitter smile I always gave when she smiled at me and said goodbye.

That night, I cried again.

Why? If Sis was going to visit, couldn't she at least acknowledge me? Why did she just ignore me for the week she was staying here?

Wouldn't it have been better if she never came here?

Was it wrong for me to wish I had never met her?

I remember reading up on Freud's findings.

A kid tends to fall in love with their mother or father figure due to the neglect of their real parent.

That wasn't me, right?

I mean, I don't think I'd ever really fall in love with Sis, and I doubt that I would consider my parents as neglectful but …

Did I really love Sis? Maybe. She was the first person I knew I could trust, since parents were always the cold overlords what impassively judged your every move.

It sounds kind disgusting thinking about it. Never mind the fact that she's my cousin, but I honestly thought of her as my sister.

Is it wrong of me to think of her like that?

It hurts to think about her.

It hurts.

I still refuse to believe that I fell for her. That's so wrong.

Is it?

I mean, I get the whole thing about inbreeding and stuff, but is it that bad?

But … what about her? Would she ever love me back?

I hate myself.

I hate myself for ever being born. I hate how I can't be more popular. I hate how I can't be smart I hate how I can't be strong I hate how nobody likes me IhatehownomatterwhatIdoit'snevergoodenough.

I hate it.

But most of all, I hate how I met Sis.

I wanted an older sister figure, and I ended up falling in love with her.

Is it wrong?

/End/

As you can see, the protagonist (me) fell in love with his cousin, who is nicknamed Sis. Yes, I did fall in love my cousin, and yes she is (for some tradition that I don't understand) nicknamed Sis. Feel free to take a moment to rethink what possible horrendous character I could have, that I would ever fall in love with her.

...

I confessed to her a few months back, and she took it surprisingly well. Unsurprisingly, I was rejected. I expected as much. After all, the mere fact that we are cousins should be deterrent enough.

It doesn't help that I've grown up convinced I was a useless piece of shit. Even as I confessed, I knew that I didn't deserve someone like her. Further information lies in this anonymous confession I once made in my school's confession page:

"Okay, so before you guys immediately start despising me, hear me out.

I've lived a fucked up life, though not as fucked up as some of my friends. I've been treated as a dog (I'm not joking, these kids would treat me like a fucking animal), publicly humiliated, and beaten. As a child, I've always wanted someone to look up to.

That person was my cousin, who was several years older than me.

Now, I bet you probably know how this post will end up, but please, hear me out. My cousin, she ... Fuck, I don't know how to describe her without doing her an injustice. She's, imo, one of the only people I truly care about, maybe even he only person I care about. She's like an angel, and she seemingly cares for me more than my parents do.

She comes over to visit for the holidays often, and I don't know when it began, but I think it was when we were singing along to the radio in the car and she sang to the lyrics of ""Only Girl in the World"" or whatever. I began to fall in love with her.

If you feel disgusted,you have every right to be, but again, please hear me out.

It started as a crush. She was everything I dreamed to be: beautiful, talented, incredibly smart, so carefree and friendly ... It's hard to believe we're related. Me? I'm just your run of the mill Asian guy who has bad genes, average grades, and isolated in real life. To me, she was practically a goddess.

As I grew older, that crush turned into love. She was practically the only thing I looked forward to during the holidays. By now, I had realized what incest was and why it was immoral.

Guys, you have to understand the moral dilemma I was going through at the age of what, 12 or 13? Ever since, I've been crushed by guilt over my secret love for her and my conscience. I turned 16 this year, so put that into perspective.

I think about a year or two ago, she found out maybe. She stayed a little more distant from me and interacted less with me. She still gave me a friendly smile whenever we met eye contact, though it looked a little strained.

Feel free to judge all you want. Yeah, I'm a disgusting freak who should be outcasted or whatever. Trust me, I've contenolated suicide over this before and have attempted twice, and botched both attempts.

So remember, if you think you have love life problems, at least you have a minor chance. Me? I'm a fucking joke. My face is ugly and riddled with scars, I'm slim but not fit, my eyes unnerve people (I've had kids cry just by making eye contact with me, warning glares from parents), and no one seems to tolerate my real personality, causing me to keep a facade up always."

As you can tell, I fell hard for my cousin. However, the sheer guilt of this made me hate myself. I tortured myself mentally, trying to get rid of this from my head. In tandem with the emotional abuse I received...I'm not exactly the most stable person out there.

Time passed and I still feel relatively hollow, but the weight was lifted off my chest. Kinda. The topic no longer makes me want to kill myself, nor do I lose sleep over it anymore. But the aftereffects remained: I lost my muse. The guilt and wretchedness I felt was what propelled me to write more as a stress reliever.

So what does this mean for my stories? Well, they will take a LONG time before being updated. I'm still struggling to juggle school and my health, as well as making time to talk to BP. Who knows? Maybe I'll find my muse again. Until then, I don't expect much.