On a good day I’m starting to believe I haven’t done so bad, on a neutral day I believe in the road I have travelled, on a bad day I fear she was right and I’m not worth it. It is her birthday today, the woman who gave birth to me, and hated me for being there. The woman who made my life a living hell, and who is happily going from one birthday to another without any regret. So today I feel alone, fat and old. And angry. Angry at the world, angry with my father for hiding behind his religion instead of standing up for me, angry at my family for not intervening, angry at my surroundings for not picking up on it, or picking up on it and not doing anything about it. Angry for all the wasted time and energy, but mostly angry at myself for letting her still have this impact on me.