My family tells me “write a book then I will read it” and I just keep thinking:
Assholes, maybe instead just listen to me when I tell my stories you want to ignore so badly.
They couldn’t even be bothered to spend thousands on me though and more than once in my life I have just been dropped off at street corners with hopes that I would disappear from their lives.

It sucks. While I may not know you, I know similar pain and know it’s never easy. I hope you find comforts in the little things around you.