From as young as I can remember my family would tell me that I was found in a garbage bin and that I was not one of them. My nickname was "Dirt Tin"
I loved the animals for accepting me and decided they were my real family. I couldn't eat my real family. I could only love them.
From around 7 years old I was relentlessly bullied by my family for being βthe one who wouldnβt eat meat.β
My grandfather would eat raw meat in front of me at the dinner table and with blood dripping down his face, he'd be telling me that there was something wrong with me and that I'd get sick if I didn't eat meat.
My uncle would taunt me and slap me in the face with raw steaks at family BBQs.
My mother would complain about how it was always a fight to try to get me to eat meat at dinner time.
I would sneak the corgi inside and sit him under the table and throw the meat to him.
I didnβt understand why my family found basic empathy so offensive. The animals suffering and lives mattered more to me than being loved and accepted by my family.
Itβs strange how the simplest act of kindness can trigger others to be so cruel to you.
This upbringing didn't make me a victim in any way, the poor animals have always been the victims. It did make me brave, independent and strong - a warrior that understands the bigger picture and the long game.
Love Eternal.
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