Family is supposed to mean unity but unity means different things to different families.
My family is like a popularity contest of who’s the favorite and who is the family’s black sheep, and guess where I fall in my family’s line.
I am the black sheep of my family because I don’t have a bond like everybody else does with each other. I don’t have a bond with the family because they’ve made me feel like an outcast.
I can’t be trusted by saying things about my character like I am big or a liar.
On top of all the character bashing, I feel like the most significant burden on everyone.
They can smile at me like the rest of the world does but talk shit behind my back, but when I tell them how I feel, I’m wrong because I shouldn’t feel that way.
I’m not allowed to feel that way because of everything they’ve given up to take care of me.
I’ve always said this, and I stick by my statement, I never asked to be here.
That was a choice that was made for me before I was even thought of, and I’m not going to feel bad for speaking my truth, just like when they talk about me being a liar, me being a bitch me being difficult. As much as I would like to be a part of my family, why would I want to when they have such a dark perception of who I am as a person.
The main reason I can be who I want to be with my friends is that my friends have no judgment of me and don’t make me feel indifferent to them.
My disability has never defined me, but my family has allowed my disability to determine how far I can go in life.
I’m not about to do that to please them. I want my own life. I deserve it; I have earned it.
I’ve given them 40 years of my life; I’m not about to give them another 40 years. I became an adult, mind, body, and soul; the god blessed me at 21 years old. I did not use marriage to become emancipated.
Honestly, my mother forgets that marriage is emancipated in every way possible in the state of New York City. So I feel like whoever reads my following statement will feel some way about me, and I can say I don’t give fuck.
Yes, true, my mother has dirty hands; wiping ass broke her back; caring for me like no other person would give me the best years of her life. Caring for who everyone sees today, and I am blessed and grateful.
If I may be truthful, I am sick tired of the constant guilt of how grateful I should be because she chose to put her life on hold for me when it is my turn to live without feeling like I am stopping everybody else from living there extraordinary lives.
Ms. Butterfly Genesis
The Memoir Of Ms. Butterfly 