My name is Divinity Arnett. I am fifteen and a half years old as of March twenty-first, and I have six siblings, three of which I am not biologically related to, and the other three are only my half siblings. I was conceived by sexual relations out of wedlock, in some cheap hotel in Vegas. I have no knowledge of who my father is, and I may never know. I haven't spoken to my mother in nearly a decade, although she sends the same, slightly altered apology paragraph about her life and how much she misses me every two years or so. I have no interest in speaking to her or accepting her apology. My mom, who adopted me and my little sister closest to my age after I asked her and my dad to, says that sometimes, in order to get closure, and move on from something, you have to forgive. Not for them, but for yourself. She speaks from experience, her childhood sucked even worse than the first three and a half years of mine did. And she didn't escape until she was sixteen. I understand what she means, but I have trouble accepting that I have to accept a copy-paste apology without question, just so I can focus on my future more and have one less thing to overthink. I don't forgive her for anything that she's done. She was never a mother to me, she was neglectful, and abusive, physically and emotionally. And I'm supposed to forgive her for all of that damage that she did. It sucks too, because I blame myself for a lot of things that are completely out of my control. Like my clumsiness, my weight, the way I look in general. I hate it. But my mom says that it's her fault, that I'm damaged in ways that take time to be repaired. But I have too many repairs to make. I guess I'm just too...Broken.

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