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[Tue Mar 18th/ 11:10pm] |
I don't know why I even bother going home any more. Sure my parents are talking to me- and it only took them four fucking years to get to that point- but it's not exactly meaningful conversation. Mainly it's just to ask me to pass the butter at a meal or reminding me to wear a jumper. If they're feeling especially talkative, sometimes I even get a 'so what did you do today?' Asking me about school or my life away from home is a huge taboo though; heaven forbid that they acknowledge that I'm not like them, that I'm not normal. Clearly they seem to think that if they ignore it, they'll be able to go on pretending that I'm just off at some muggle school rather than learning magic. They're still convinced that I'm off worshipping the devil or something, and they don't want to know anything about it.
I mean, I know that I'm not big on conversation so it should be a relief that they don't want to talk to me every second, but Jesus Christ, these are my parents. Aren't they supposed to care about me a little bit? Or couldn't they at least pretend to, if not for my sake then for the rest of the family? Gemma still doesn't know what to make of it, and I'm afraid that she'll feel pressured to take a side.
I think I'm just going to find somewhere else to stay. Sean may have room. At least my siblings don't hate me.
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