If i write a title will i know what im talking about?

It is just that Mary didn’t like being called anything. She was not a hyper sensitive millennial, she just couldn’t handle descriptions while she herself couldn’t reason her own traits.

Mary, you are so talented! Why don’t you draw on walls, write books, conquer the world, why don’t you use all the potential we see in you!

Amanda would climb tables to act out her overwhelming belief that Mary is predestined for bigger things. But Mary would continue to suck in air trough a straw from the milkshake she ordered even though she is lactose intolerant.

Amanda, she would sigh, I am not all these things. I draw or write rarely and there are million people around me who are better than I am in these fields.

Amanda, I am just another brick in the wall.

Mary would seem very uninterested and passive, but in fact she has been making a lot of effort to do basic human things like buy something in a store or just go out for coffee. To advance in her skills, to finish her college, to achieve anything she had to be born again.

It was too much luggage on her back from the past.

Mary knew that the past is gone and that she must move forward. But all that she never said was eating her inside, and she has never been able to verbalize all that was bugging her.

Like when she was painting. She was never good at it, she was too messy for creamy substances. Her dad spit on her paintings.

He hated her artistic side.

He called her a bitch.

She never told anyone, because nobody would be ready to hear.

And she believed nobody cared.

And at the end, nobody would be able to help.

Mary was writing, but her writing were mostly about her stupid dad who was destroying her being.

 

Amanda has had problems with her dad as well. Almost the same problems, but she turned it into motivation to become successful to prove him wrong.

I couldn’t do it, I don’t know why or how I became Mary and not Amanda.

But Amanda, she would always tell, she would always talk about her pain.

Mary, or fuck Mary, I am talking about myself, I would always cry in silence and move on because time flows and I would forget about it. To be truthful I would never forget, I would force myself to ignore.

Ask my dad about it today he will tell you I lie. He has never done such gross things.

He is the perfect dad and he gave everything to his children to succeed. But I failed..

Because I am a bitch.

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