She sits there on the couch, not 5 feet away, yelling at me in hushed tones. The sliding door is closed so my dad doesn’t stir, but I can almost hear his heavy snores. She wants to disown me, the sixth threat in these last three months. No more money for college, no more support. No more love.

It burns there in my chest, floating just above my tshirt, and I want to scream. I want to tear my hair out and cry. I stand up, and begin to pour four years out into the dim room.

“I feel like a failure in this family!” I begin, my voice already shrill, “With all the all-stars and champions, the lawyers and perfect children! I feel like I don’t belong, and that you don’t want me to! I lie there in my room, the only one downstairs, and cry. You sit here, on this couch, laughing while I curl myself into nothing on my too-small bed.” I feel the words rising in my throat, and they burn like bile.

“I’m a joke, a black sheep, and you want me to go.” It’s still there, the secret, hotter and harder to contain.