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December 4, 2002
I wish my parents had stopped with my brother, I really do. Three is a horrible number to have. Three means two team up and one is left. In my case, it’s me. T and M seem to believe it is their mission in life to provoke me. I don’t think they know I feel hurt too. At the same time I say things to them, hurt their souls, and I feel awful. I wonder what ancestor I got this trait from, this fierce temper and tendency to open my mouth and let the scalding words poor from my lips.