parenting.

(I know parenting is hard so please don't give me hate for this piece.)

Something went wrong somewhere. I don't know where. My parents did their best to raise 2 boys and a girl. They turned out fine. I did not. I may seem normal, look normal, talk- somewhat normally... But I'm not normal.

Remember the thing when you were a child where you'd place the shapes into that shape's hole? My brothers are squares and I'm a triangle. I don't fit into the square hole no matter how hard you try. My parents don't realize that and are trying to fit me into that mold. My brothers are built for long, hot days outside doing physical labor. I am built for a desk job in an air conditioned office. 8 hours of paperwork a day? Perfect! Sign me up! 5 hours of mowing, trimming and getting rocks thrown back at my face? No. Nope. Can't do it. I overheat and nearly pass out everytime. My dad doesn't see it. He's a workaholic. He loves to work. And complain about work. He loves to mow. And complain about mowing to everyone. It gets old when you realize what he does.

My parents ground me when I do not mow. They only see my father working 8 hours a day and then going to mow for 4 or 5 more hours. During the school year, I am at school for 8 hours, then we go mow for 5 hours, then I still have homework... I get to bed around 11 or 12 and my mother starts yelling at me at 10 and saying, "why didn't you do this ealier?!" I don't dare say, "because I've been mowing all night." I just keep my head down and keep doing homework. They do not realize the stress and the pressure they're already putting on their daughter and now add this mowing business I did not agree to be part of. Something went wrong when your child is contemplating killing themselves so they don't have to go through a summer of hell. I'm trying to find a job so I don't have to rogue and detassel but no one will hire a 15 year-old.

Mom, dad. I'm sorry that I'm not your perfect child. But this isn't about mowing anymore. This is a silent war about my mental health, which is quickly declining, that you refuse to acknowledge exists. You think I'm just being dramatic, I think I need medication. I'm sorry that I don't fit your perfect mold that your sons do.

I'm sorry that I'm not as smart or as musical as the middle brother. I'm sorry that I'm not good at business like the eldest brother. Dad- stop pushing me towards business- I hate it! Don't ruin my growing up because you screwed up yours. I know what I'm doing so just let me be. Let me write.

I'm sorry that I'm not good enough for you.