Dear Dad, I have always wanted to make you proud. I listen to everything you say and don't talk back much, or apologize if I do. I try not to argue with you in the first place because there is no way for me to win no matter what I do. I know this. I can't win a fight as long as I live under your house. Your house, your rules. I try to abide by everything you say. But sometimes…sometimes I can't handle it. It's difficult. I want to finish all my work on time, sleep regular hours, eat better, exercise more, talk to others more, be better, be more. But it's difficult. You are one of the people I listen to. You tell me to do all of these things in an erratic mesh of spoken and unspoken commands. You are mad when I don't listen. Understandably so. But how I wish you would help me. Just once. I wish you would offer to help me with something that was within your ability to do so, and not ask to help with things you couldn't possibly understand. I just want you to help when you can instead of yelling at me that I don't listen to you. I do listen. It's just …too much to do on my own. I wish you paid attention to me like you pay attention to the rest of the family. I wish I felt loved. I wish there wasn't this hollow depth to my heart. A chasm of loneliness that was created from the repeated act of chipping away at it, one harsh order after another. One snide remark. One look of disgust, distrust, hatred, pity. It all adds up. It all hurts.