I'm no longer satisfied with the meaningless affection or the supposedly serious talks.
I long for something from Father that he's incapable of giving.
I'm not jealous of Margot; I never have been. I'm not envious of her brains or her beauty.
It's just that I'd like to feel that Father really loves me, not because I'm his child, but because I'm me, Anne.
I cling to Father because my contempt of Mother is growing daily
and it's only through him that I'm able to retain the last ounce of family feeling I have left.
He doesn't understand that I sometimes need to vent my feelings for Mother.
He doesn't want to talk about it, and he avoids any discussion involving Mother's failings.
And yet Mother, with all her shortcomings, is tougher for me to deal with.
I don't know how I should act. I can't very well confront her with her carelessness,
her sarcasm and her hard-heartedness, yet I can't continue to take the blame for everything.
I'm the opposite of Mother, so of course we clash.
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