When I really think about who knows me,

the numbers decrease, and decrease.

When I finally get to zero I realize that no one knows me, or my whole story.

But who really wants to hear about a 9 year old girl a couple months into 4th grade realizing her sister has been a drug addict for almost a whole year and her room was literally 6 feet from mine.

6 feet.

Was I really that stupid?

Was I really that oblivious?

Guess so.

After she was shipping off to rehab, my parents were distant.

Almost in a trance.

I guess they were just shocked their angle wasn't a good one.

Either I died, or they forgot about me.

It was like I was just a memory.

A very old memory everyone seemed to get over.

All family would call about was Bridge.

All anyone ever talked about was Bridge.

They would ask,

"how she doing?",

"what happened?",

"how are you two doing?",

"is there anything we can do?".

Cassidy never even existed.

Everything always about Bridge.

So I just learned to keep my head down.

I taught myself things my parents were suppsoed to.

Like sex.

I mean Bridge gave me mini lesson on how babies are created and stuff like that, but I learned on my own.

I learned how to cook some things, and I found that baking helps with lowering my anxiety.

I grew up years before I should have.

I hate when poeple talk about their nice, long childhoods.

But I guess being a couple years more mature than most kids close to my age is an advange.

I don't know.

I just wanted to be noticed.

And cared about.

And loved.