Just a little something for me

Trying to understand but not caring for the answer

The first time I spoke about my dreams,
I like to call them dreams because nightmares sound like something a small child would say.

Where was I?
Oh yah that's right.

The first time I spoke about my dreams,
I was 13,
My sister and I had gotten in to a heated discussion about me being on my laptop all night being the reason for the dark circles around my eyes.
I'd told her I wasn't on it all night,
That I'd slept in between the many hours of the night.

Of course she didn't believe me.
So I told her why I wasn't sleeping,
Why I didn't or couldn't sleep.
She didn't have a response for her 13 year old sister who was now on the point of crying because she was so exhausted, as well as having enough of hear the same conversation for the past two months.

My sister being my sister said nothing,
Gave me a pat on the back and silently left the room that we'd been sitting in.

Now,
I'd heard no more about.
No more was said about the thick, dark bags under my eyes.

Well that was until I was sitting in my Dads van.
He'd brought it up,
Telling me my sister had told him.
He questioned what they was about,
Not that he cared.
He didn't even give me a chance to tell him before he was asking if they was about him,
Asking if it was because I was worried that he was going to leave just like my Mum had.
He promised me that he wouldn't leave,
Wouldn't go running of like Mum had,
Wouldn't just go off with Joanne.

He lied.
He left just like Mum.

You see my sister had told my parents about the dreams.
She hoped that it would help,
Help them see what they was putting us all through.

It didn't.
Their selfish.

When I was younger I used to pray to have a relationship like my parents.
Sure they had their arguments,
But they was so loving made everyone feel welcome.
We was one big family.

It was just beautiful,
Amazing,
The way they dealt with everything.
They was together for some many years.

But it wasn't,
The years just built problems.

My Dad was dependent on my Mums love.
Like it was his only supply of oxygen.
He couldn't live without her and boy,
Did he try to die still with her.

Not that it helped.
You can't make someone love you.

So although my parents and siblings,
Still don't know the battle I fight in my sleep,
Nor would they understand it.
They will not try,
They won't really want an answer to their questions.

I'm just second best to them.
All of them.

They much rather push my problems aside.
Pretend like that there's nothing wrong.
Do exactly what they've done with my existence,
Pretend it never existed in the first place.

I'm at peace with this though,
I don't need tonne anyone's first choice,
I'm just lucky to be a choice.