"Healing is about accepting, not forgetting."

My family is big. Not like a normal big family, but big. Two years before I was born my parents decided to move to the other side of the country. To leave their families behind and start a new life in a new city, in a new state. It's not like it really bothered me, but it literally made us the weird family part. We were the ones too far away for a short visit. The part of the family you saw once a year on a birthday. But after all, we were a part of the family. My grandma had the opinion that my developement would be in danger if I would grow up in a city. So she literally made me grow up on a farm. She thaught me how to feed the hens and how to ride a donkey. She told me everything I would need to know if I would take her place, which I really would have wanted to. But how it always is, every good looking story has a plot twist that makes even the best characters look bad. And so, how it must have been, my grandma started to slightly hate me. Not like hate me hate me, but like hate me. She started to starve me when she thought that i gained weight eventhough i didn't. I wasn't enough whatever I did. She never saw the way I tried. She saw the way i lost. And that was the only important thing for her. Which is okay and relatable, but she gave me my view on loosing. Not being the best is not good enough. Right? When I did it, she couldn't understand. She didn't want to understand, to see that she made mistakes in her perfect life. That maybe I wasn't the only problem. She would get the fourth letter. A letter about self-reflection and perfection.