Sometimes I hate them. Some people hate their family members more frequently, for longer periods of time, in more intensity and severity, and for far better reasons, but that doesn't change the fact that sometimes I hate them. You should all relate to that.
Sometimes I can't believe how similar they are to me, whether it be because of genetics or because I spend about half my time with them.
Sometimes I realize how vastly different the relationship between me and my brother are from other families and how different the parenting styles are, not only between families, but between the two of my parents.
Sometimes I realize that with the right mindset the pestering and guilting and nagging and lecturing and threatening and yelling does not get to me.
Sometimes all that stuff gets to me really badly, and it screws up life.
Sometimes I was disconnected, sometimes attached. But most of all, I was always there.
Now, I'm not as much. And it's a good feeling to be away more for the present time.
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