I live away from my family and I cut my bangs a couple months ago and when I got to my apartment after my hair appointment it was the first time I had looked at the mirror and saw me, I stared at me, I loved me. Before it was always quick glances and fit checks, but for the first time I saw me.

Skip to today where my birth giver FaceTimes me and I grew the courage to answer. I never let them see me post transition. I wish I could say it was a mistake but I was brave. When my mother saw me; to say she hated it is an understatement.

She said how could they ever invite me back home and have my uncle, aunt and cousins see me. I love my family, but they don’t love me and I know it’s a fact and everyone says they do love me, but they don’t and I know it.

I don’t cut my hair this way for attention, to cause dram,a or to hurt them. I just want to exist, but my existence hurts them.

[Tw: homophobia, disowning and the Crouch parents being shitty in general]

The wands wooshed. Regulus's quill scratched ink onto the paper. The sand in the hourglass fell. The staircases rejoined with a "thump". Evan's fingers drummed on the table. The floor boards creaked. The professor rambled on. The clock ticked.

Barty couldn't focus. Every sound irked him more. He pressed his index fingers to his temples, hoping the pressure would relieve the headache he felt coming on. Momentarily it did. There was a deafening silence.

"You fucking waste of space." His father's voice played in his mind. "Associating yourself with the Rosiers?" His mother mocked.

"Your father and I have done so much for you! Why are you doing this to us?! We've given you everything youve ever wanted!" He could see his mother sob on the sofa, Evan's letter lay crumpled on her lap.

"How desperate can you be to seek love from a boy?! You are no son of ours!" His father jabbed an accusatory finger at him.

He didn't expect his parents to find the letter. He couldn't speak. He couldn't fight for himself. He stood there in front of his parents with tears streaming down his face. He couldn't even move as his parents set fire to the letter. He shut down.

counting down the days to my living funeral

where i will be as good as dead in your eyes

while i just stand here

tears, no doubt, streaming down my face

and you ignore me like a ghost

not fully dead, but in my own hellish purgatory