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I wish my parents were white.
The average middle class white parents that are super understanding and ask all the right questions.
Like in the movies.
The kind that would offer me assistance at the drop of a hat no matter what.
“It’s alright Bobby. I can tell you’re super overwhelmed. Of course you can come home, we’ll worry about everything else later.”
The kind that are well off enough to travel across the state at the drop of a hat when they’re kid needs help, without giving them an attitude.
The kind that helps their kids out when they become young adults because we’re still learning how to take care of ourselves.
The kind who visit.
The kind who calls first.
The kind where both parents are talking to you about your well-being instead of just one.
The kind that remembers and tries to understand that they don’t call either and they have no right to yell at you for never talking.
The kind that does extensive research about your disorder so they can understand how you feel instead of belittling them.
The kind that lets you give up when they see how much pain you’re in and that things aren’t getting better.
The kind that don’t put expectations on you that aren’t the same the rest your siblings.
The kind who value your pain as much as your siblings.
The kind who try to understand why you fucked up instead of just being pissed at you for it.
The kind who don’t see your mistakes as revenge against them but a cry for help.

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