I don’t want you as my sister. I don’t even want to say you’re my sister. The weight of that word—the supposed bond, the forced connection—means nothing to me anymore. You make me miserable. And the worst part? You don’t care.
You lie as easily as breathing. Every other word out of your mouth is twisted, exaggerated, fabricated to serve whatever version of reality benefits you most. You make everything about you, even when you’re not in the room. Like some parasite, you linger in conversations, in moments that should have nothing to do with you. And for so long, I let you take up space in my mind. But not anymore. Fuck that. I hate you.
This isn’t some petty sister fight. No, this is bigger than that. This is years of manipulation, gaslighting, and toxicity wrapped up in the illusion of family. You are an actual psychopath, and the most infuriating part? People still defend you. They look at me, standing here with proof after proof of your lies and abuse, and somehow, I’m the crazy one. How convenient.
But here’s what you don’t see: I’m done. Done explaining. Done proving. Done trying to get anyone to understand what I’ve lived through. You need help—but it’s not coming from me.
We are done.
yes. Those are real screenshots of the messages she has sent me. why? because i either told her no, or she didn’t like I stood up for myself.
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