It wasn’t that long ago family was one of the most important thing in my life. I prided myself in having such a large family even when we were estranged from a number of people there was still so many of us left together. For the last four or so years that hasn’t been the case. It started with my aunt on dad’s side who I was very close with; I thought the world of her but now that relationship has been limited. It began with the constant comparison to my cousin who is 11 months younger than I am. Comparing my life to hers, reminding me that I’m not doing things like she is. The way my life has gone led me to being an author and pursuing that dream. It wasn’t a conscious choice to start writing a book when I was fifteen, I hit rock bottom when that story came to me. It saved me and became my outlet to express trauma I had to understand and my decline in my mental health. Once writing stopped being my cute little hobby and actual career ambition, my aunt seemed to have this disappointment in me I couldn’t understand. The two books I’ve published since January 2017 she has no idea about and with a third coming out I also don’t have an intention to tell her. Her poorly reaction to announce the book was complete and I’ll be moving forward to self publishing, it was a disinterested “oh”. It’s so drastically different with my godmother’s family who are amazed at what I can do and don’t know how I’m able to do it. My mom’s side of the family is so proud of me going full force with my career and want to see me succeed. My family circle has gotten smalle and there’s that part of me that wishes everyone can be involved. The thing is with my aunt, she can’t pick what parts of me she wants then dismiss the rest. It’s not just me, there are many people that come with me, so it’s all of me or nothing. As of right now, she has nothing.