I feel like I don't like this new family I have. The term "family" and not being a family but rather a group of strangers, disconnected, are the same thing. It can't be that the term "family" meant the union of individuals where each one is in their own world and barely concerned about the other. It can't be that that was family for me. It can't be.

I came to consider family a group of individuals who had a vaguely close connection with me and with each other, practically only organizationally and moderately. I feel like I called them family, and I find it shameful. If I had told them we were family, they would surely have called me insane or something like that or demanded that I report this to a psychiatrist in some way. It can't be.

What I considered "family" was the height of remoteness from what we could consider a union of loved ones. In what was my biological family, we established our family through violence; that was the denial of our distance. We were all complete strangers to each other. What the hell were we doing living among strangers? No wonder we knew how to navigate the streets so easily, because after all, we didn't differentiate between the street and our homes. The streets seemed simpler, and that's why we were somewhat more adept at socializing there. However, there was always a strange quality about us.

It can't be that my family was a gathering of complete strangers where there was no love, sex only served to speed things up. I mean, what kind of family do I come from, for God's sake? Anyone who knows me with this story runs away because of the consequences it might have on me—something that apparently surprises one of the doctors who examined me because I didn't react the same way. I feel like it can't be that I came from an environment where there was no affection, no evidence of organization, but quite the opposite, and that everything that contradicted us as a family was precisely what we considered family. But what kind of world did we live in, for God's sake?

Did no one notice the friction we had with everyone else? Why were we always ostracized? Did no one question why people treated us the way they did? What kind of world did we live in? We were completely isolated from others, at the mercy of our prejudices, with no one daring to go beyond them, except me. In fact, my psychotherapist saw me as the only opportunity to break out. No one questioned why people acted the way they did toward us, what it was about us that made that happen, why we treated other people the way we did, if it even existed. The theory that we had come to Earth to suffer seemed ridiculous to me and was implicit in the family narrative.

I insist: What kind of thing did we have at home, for God's sake? We had nothing healthy. We couldn't go outside. Prejudices blinded us at all costs. We lived to survive in society at the expense of irrational fears. Our anxieties isolated us, and we believed them to be true. In fact, no one noticed that even among ourselves, we acted out exaggerated dramas. It can't be that we can only be among ourselves and that the people who touch us are violent, humiliating people—in other words, family members of the same ilk as us, where emotion blinds, and there's no balance at all with reason.

How hard was it for me to see this reality? I realized this was happening five years ago, and precisely because I saw a pattern among the girls I was looking for that was repeated, and people said it was a matter of letting it go. Everyone told me I was exaggerating; however, I had managed to be precise; I had found the point that would help me escape such situations. How many of my family members are still trapped in a strange, out-of-this-world world? For God's sake, I prefer to be with lucid people, given that these blind, blind people purposefully run over others. I was simply overrun with them. And the worst part is that this gang of beings lived off wanting me to be like them at all costs. That was their philosophy, because that way I would be safe, better, under their support, as if they were the perpetual caretakers. These beings are very adept at taking advantage of others' prejudices and social profiles. However, I always knew there was a way to bring them down, as I did.

How far would I go with these beings, for God's sake, if I didn't realize things? What kind of partner would I get to put a stop to this? What escalations of violence would I go to? And my parents despised psychoanalysis, psychology, and all that. It's something that fills me, it angers me, because they wanted to serve as an obstacle to me going out into the world and seeing them from there. Even my mother, quite bluntly, expressed this to me. They tried to hide this truth from me for their own innocence Conscience, and that's something that bothers me a lot.

How much did I suffer being part of this? When did I suffer living within this family's standards? It was the worst thing that could have ever happened to me. Furthermore, outsiders took advantage of the weakness they had implicated me in thanks to my rebelliousness as a child, which always persisted given that it made my father realize several things, made me have values, a series of things that he later betrayed. But thanks to him betraying his spirit under the influence of my mother, I didn't want to end up like him. That's why I am where I am today; something I know thanks to this writing.

How many times did they not want to stop me from writing? Stop me from researching? Even my psychologist served as an obstacle. Why did my own psychologist serve as an obstacle? The same people, my friends, everyone. I discovered that they were all made up of dysfunctional families, and no one had even realized this. I was alone in such a situation. In such an endeavor. Who supported me? Not even the girl I identified with at the time wanted to support me. It was all about staying with the family when I was going in the opposite direction. It was pesos, after pesos, after pesos. Even at my workplace, they tried to exploit that story, even at a university, but frankly, I made them pay by making them see the reflection of their actions before the law, which was quick to issue its immediate protection. I don't understand how there can be people who believe I'm going to treat them as family or something like that, something I didn't do internally, with my real family members, when I'm not going to do it. In fact, given the simple fact of abusing it, it already implies acting with restraint but without harming, given that it would be an extra effort that will be costly for my family member.

This society almost buried me with my family! Almost! And my family and my surroundings support me! But I didn't allow it. For some time now, I've been looking for tools to support myself by any means necessary. I wasn't going to allow myself to go under the sad fate that awaited me, where I even saw my own death. I deserved to live, I deserved to live what I loved, not at the expense of weight, of a darkness imposed on me by my family, under a clear deception that was the murderer in my life. I deserved a better life. That's why I fought so hard.

For God's sake, how much abuse did I endure because of my family's imposed interests? How much rudeness? How much mistreatment for not being well-educated, and which people responded with simply hidden and undisputed retaliation? How many moments of horrific loneliness? How many times did I need someone to be with me? How many games did my mind not play to survive? How many mechanisms did my psyche not use to move forward? How much writing? How much speaking into a microphone? How many walks? How many strange exercises? How many eccentric creative endeavors? How many betrayals? How many disappointments? I just wanted to stop once and for all. I wanted this journey to finally end. Besides, nothing's worse than getting used to being with your family and then being without them and still having all that weight on your shoulders.

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