You sat at the kitchen table, the cold linoleum pressing into your palms as your parents’ voices grew louder across the room. The familiar sting of being the target settled over you like a heavy fog.

“Why can’t you be more like your brother?” your father snapped, eyes sharp and unforgiving. “He’s working, going to school, actually making something of himself. What are you doing? Smoking weed and wasting your life.”

Your mother folded her arms, her voice cutting. “And the way you shut down when we try to talk to you—it’s like you don’t even care. We’re trying to help, but you just push us away.”

You clenched your fists, nails digging into your skin. “I’m not you,” you said, voice trembling but steady. “I’m not them. And I’m doing the best I can.”

Your father scoffed, shaking his head. “Your best isn’t good enough. You’re lazy, and you’re dragging the whole family down.”

Tears pricked at your eyes, hot and bitter. “I’m not dragging anyone down,” you whispered. “Maybe I don’t fit your perfect little picture. Maybe I’m the black sheep. But I’m still here. I’m still trying.”

Your mother’s eyes softened for a moment, but only for a moment before she looked away. “You need to change. For all our sakes.”

The words hit you like a punch. You stood up abruptly, chair scraping the floor. “Maybe you need to see me for who I am, not who you want me to be.”

Without waiting for a response, you grabbed your hoodie and slammed the door behind you, the sound echoing through the house.