🖤 Rant: How Am I the Bad Guy?

I can’t stop letting it get to me. I try. I journal, I cry, I scream into pillows. I do the rituals, the grounding, the self-care. But it still eats at me. Because my sisters think I’m the problem. They act like I’m the villain in a story I didn’t write. And it hurts. It hurts.

Sarah didn’t even blink. She didn’t ask questions. She didn’t say, “Wait, that doesn’t sound like Ally.” No. She just nodded along while Emily spun her lies. Lies that painted me as unstable, dramatic, cruel. Lies that erased everything I’ve been through. And Sarah just said, “Yeah, that sounds like her.” Like I’m some cartoon of dysfunction. Like I’m not a whole person with a heart and history and proof.

I was uninvited from my niece’s first birthday because of it. Do you know how humiliating that is? How gutting? I had gifts picked out. I had dreams of showing up with love and glitter and auntie magic. And instead, I got silence. I got rejection. I got erased. But guess who was there. Emily.

And here’s the part that makes me want to scream: I have folders. Folders. Of videos. Of photos. Of texts. Of Emily hitting, throwing things, screaming, lying. I have proof. I have receipts. I have documentation of the abuse. Of the manipulation. Of the chaos she created and blamed on me.

So HOW am I the bad guy?

How am I the one they cut off? How am I the one they whisper about? How am I the one who gets painted as toxic when I was the one begging for peace, for truth, for safety?

I didn’t make this mess. I survived it.

And I’m tired of being punished for surviving. I’m tired of being the scapegoat. I’m tired of being the one who gets left out, talked down to, and shut out—just because I refused to keep playing along with the lie.

And it’s not just me they’ve targeted. Tia and Izzy got dragged into it too—just for still loving me. Just for still talking to me. Like what? How is that fair? They didn’t do anything wrong. They didn’t pick sides. They just showed up with kindness, and suddenly they’re guilty by association. Suddenly they’re “part of the problem” because they refused to abandon me.

It’s cruel. It’s controlling. It’s a punishment disguised as family loyalty. And it’s not okay.

I’m not perfect. I’ve made mistakes. But I’ve also done the work. I’ve faced the mirror. I’ve tried to heal. And I’m still here, still trying, still hurting.

So no, I won’t pretend it doesn’t get to me. It does. It wrecks me. But I’m done pretending I deserve it.

I’m not the bad guy. I’m just the one who finally said “enough.”