People say I’m mature. People say I’m all grown up. What does it matter? When you can’t even convince the ones who control everything that you are? Sometimes kids know just as much as these grown-ups do, sometimes it breaks their hearts. But what does it matter? It doesn’t concern them, they’re just kids.
How can I explain the feeling of being an equal to my parents, watching them rip each other apart, and still feel as helpless as a child? For I can do nothing to change their minds, I’m their child. I’m too young. Too young to understand things like pettiness, greed, narcissism, and cruelty. What do I know? Nothing. What can I do? Just as much. They wish to protect my innocence, yet they destroyed it in the process of making their lives better.
This is just one of many experiences. It’s like manure, it fertilizes the seedling. It makes it grow tall and strong, yet when you go deeper, you find that this plant’s bitter. Bitter and filled with pits. That plant, I guess is what I am, thanks to them.