One day, you tell me that I will be alone for the rest of my life. The next day, you tell me to go have sex with my sex toys. You imply that I am a “bitch” by stating, "every time you have a problem, you call her a ‘bitch’, as if you are not one”. I don’t blame you for anything that has ever happened to me. I never have, and I won’t start to. I also don’t attempt to seek validation from you.I don’t need your approval, nor do I need your acceptance. You have never loved me. You have always treated me wrong. You have never cared about me. You have always hated me. You jump into sibling arguments, to defend your oldest - not because I, as the youngest, pick on her (not the case), but, because you have always hated your young(est)… you have always hated me. Your child. Your youngest. Your last born. Is it because I was born on your ex-husbands birthday or because I look the most like him? How could you talk so negatively about someone, but claim to love someone that you say acts just like him? I am stuck here all day with you. All day. I have the ability to leave, and have not. If I were so desperate to leave, I could have by now. I could have left you with your grand baby, your middle, your oldest, and her husband - if I wanted to. I know I would be more happy in a dorm, in the ghetto, hood, at your sister-in-law’s, or even at a homeless shelter. At least then, I would not be ridiculed, tormented, and belittled - on a daily basis. You only see the bad in me. You call me a troublemaker, a sad person, wrong. You say that I can’t manage money, that I waste my time, that I need to be on the phone, getting verbally attacked. I received less insults over the phone than in my own bedroom. I can’t even call it my bedroom because you say that I don’t have one. I don’t even have a room in this house. You don’t appreciate me, because, in your eyes, I am worthless. You say that words have power, and to speak “life”. But, in the same breath, you tell me that I will forever and always be alone. I can’t live like this. I would rather die than to be stuck here with you and yours. I have got to get out of here. I have to leave. I have to go. I have to move on in life. I am not doing anything here. I am not progressing. I am not learning, am not making money, and am not even being acknowledged. I am literally the help to you and yours. I will remain that way until I leave you and make something out of myself. You always talk to me about your kids. You always say how I never liked your kids. They are not for me to like. Why do you care what I like when you can’t even love your youngest? I will try to avoid you, and move out in the process, and as quickly as possible.