I wish you loved me the way I love her.

Maybe you did love me in your own way, but I wish you loved me in a way that I could always feel and never made me question my value in your life.

I wish you had chosen me over him.

I wish, when my lungs were struggling and wheezing, you cared more about my health than his ego and his role as the king of the castle.

I wish you had become a better person while I was still growing.

I wish you had conquered your fears of driving long distances and leaving the house without him to guide you when I was still young and eager to explore.

I wish I could have asked for your attention and not felt like a burden to you.

I wish I could have had my own interests and felt like you supported them.

I wish you had pushed me more to leave my room and live life outside of a computer monitor.

I wish you hadn’t treat my mental health like an inconvenience or called my trauma an excuse to get out of doing chores.

I wish you would have gone to the doctor when I begged you to, when you were dying and thinking dry brushing could solve all your problems, rather than going when another male in the family whose opinion you care about more told you to go.

I wish I had been born a boy, because I know you never could connect with me the way you connected to the males in our family.

I wish, when I try to tell you how I feel or how you hurt me, you didn’t scream that I should just get over it.

I wish I had the mother she has now.