I worry too much. I worry about people liking me. I worry about people being mad at me.I can not stand the thought that someone does not like me.
I find myself thinking more about my father and stepmother. It drives me crazy that they are mad at ME!! It is not so much that we are not speaking. I had already made up my mind that I had to separate myself from him in order to be OK.
I just find it unbelievable that I am the bad guy in all of this. So unreal, isn't it? And why do I care?
And why are they not talking to me? I can only think that it is because I wanted my stepmother to know the truth. And because I wrote the book.
My father always thinks everything is all about him. The book was not about him. It was about me. Me and my journey. I did not write it to hurt him or for revenge or any of that.
I wrote it for me and for my sister and for other survivors and those who love us.
That is what I have to do. Concern myself with those who love me.
As for those who do not love me, or do not care, or are mad, well ...