In the Gore household, it’s no longer about living, it’s about surviving. The moment I turn into my street I feel such a heavy responsibility to be completely perfect. I spend my time here going to pharmacy to pharmacy to pick up my dad’s prescriptions, talking to countless relatives on the phone asking me questions about my dad, making sure my mom is happy, making sure my dad is happy and trying to keep myself together.

It’s heavy being here. It’s weird, I consider myself a very bubbly person when I am around people but when I am at home I become extremely quiet and keep to myself. I literally walk into my house, walk to the couch and hide behind two heavy blankets with my hoodie up to cover my face. When I go out with my mom to get my dad’s medications, I just follow her like a lost puppy. I say very little and it’s very obvious that my parent’s are trying to get information from me. I just can’t speak, I have no words to share. Even the most exciting things that have happened I can’t say. I’m just dead. It’s how I survive.

I want to be the perfect daughter when I am here. I never want to be the problem of the family like I have been in the past so I try extra hard to never say no, to do exactly what I am told, never complain, and to be completely submissive to whatever they say. I am so terrified that my parents will wake up tomorrow and realize that I am a horrible daughter. I would hate for them to look at me and see what I see in me. So I spend my nights here cleaning, baking, writing little notes to tell them I love them and I spend my days trying to come off as the perfect daughter to avoid their disappointment.

It’s exhausting. But at least my house smells like muffins and cookies.


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