"More than a stunning debut. It is the announcement of a bold new literary voice"
—Stephen Chbosky, author of The Perks of Being a Wallflower

You aren’t really dead, but you are dead to me. You couldn’t just accept that your oldest daughter is a lesbian, and who goes against all of your rules because you ruined my childhood. You instead, dragged my mom through a divorce (not because I was gay, you didn’t even know then, no you had a divorce because you CHEATED ON HER), you blamed my sisters, my mom, and even me before you even thought of blaming yourself, and you won’t hesitate to talk shit about my mom in front of my YOUNGER sisters. You’re a piece of crap and I hate that I’m related to you, and share some characteristics with you, I wish you were never in my life. Because of you, I didn’t have a childhood, and I grew up hating myself because you raised me to try to reach the highest things, even when you knew I couldn’t. You talked about me behind my back when I was busy with school work, which you PUSHED ME TO, and you talked to my sisters? How fucked up do you have to be to say bad things about someone’s older sister when she isn’t even there to defend herself? I know it’s terrible, but I wish you were dead, I guess being dead to me is good enough.