to whom it may concern

The two halves of my family have been torn apart, leaving me with what can only be termed as survivor's guilt. If you think you have something worse to boast of, let me say this: I broke my family. I cracked it clean down the middle with my careless wonderings, and the shattered remains will never fit cleanly together again, no matter how hard I try.

And I do try. I try until I cut myself on the shards. And then I find myself fixing my room as if, by doing so, I can fix what's left of my family. You say you've got God talking in your heads, but I don't need Him to know that it's wrong to wield Christ like a machete. Heads are rolling and hearts are bleeding and all in the name of safety and boundaries. Where is your loving god now? Is he standing in the midst of this carnage with a smile on his face? Does he congratulate you for defending yourself at the cost of some other's life? I hate what you've done to this place. Once, I had a home; now I am just alone with despair rotting straight down to my bones, and I can't take this anymore, but I don't have a choice; chained here by the law and I have no voice.

It's my fault; I know it. You don't say so, but your eyes, they show it. If you'd just tell me what I did! Pronounce your judgement and sentence me to death, just don't - don't - don't pretend it was them. Tell me what I've done and what I will do. It won't happen again; don't make your love be the price they pay for my friendship.

This got ugly fast, and I lost both parents in the divorce, and I don't let you see it but you should know that my heart is breaking from the force of the misguided hatred that I try to set back in its proper course - straight - back - to me. Maybe if you both hate me, you'll love each other again.