I'm an ungrateful child.My (single) mother sacrificed so much of her time, blood, sweat, and tears to give me and my siblings a financially lucrative life, but I still feel distant from her. I don't hate her, but I don't feel connected with her or my siblings. I don't feel part of the family, even though she could give me everything I could want or need. Money? Check. The latest gadget? Check. A nice vacation on the French coast? Check.For some reason these don't seem to matter to me. I'm calloused, I know. I'm sure a lot of people would want to trade places with me. Who wouldn't? Especially where I'm from. And who am I to complain? I live in a posh part of the metro, one of the most expensive pieces of real estate in our country. I don't rent, we own it. Sure, I have a job that pays a little above average—but I know I have a safety net to fall back onto. I'm the epitome of a trust fund kid.By now you're probably thinking: what an entitled brat.I know!You don't think that eats at me every single day? I'm entitled, I know. I have no right to complain because I live an auspicious life. I had access to quality education, and that alone is enough to put me at a good place in life. This means I can't complain about anything. I should be grateful, happy. Any quick-witted populist would be happy to antagonize me. What else could I possibly complain about, right? Entitled brat.I can't complain about my struggle to merely exist as the gay child of a conservative politician. I can't rant about that—no I shouldn't. How could I rant about it? I should just suck up the fact that my siblings are free to introduce their significant others to my family, while I have to worry about what my mother would say or feel if I even dared to mention that I have a partner. It shouldn't hurt. I shouldn't feel jealous of the fact that my mother would openly invitemy siblings' significant others on a holiday vacation with the family—all expenses paid—when I can't even invite mine for a simple dinner. I can't let her know that this person exists.She tolerates me, and that should be enough. After all, she does give me all these nice things.I should just suck up the fact that she tells me to dress appropriately—and by that, she means dress according to my biological sex. Yes, I cross dress. I feel happier that way. But I should probably be more grateful & do as I'm told. After all, she does buy me all those nice, branded clothes. I should just toughen up & take all those insidiously homophobic advice. You know, how I should act straight, because I "will never be respected as a gay person in the office", or that I "will never get ahead in life being fat & openly gay." She says it out of care, right?The other day, at the dining table, as we were having a hearty meal, she ranted about her one of her employees:"...I really feel bad for her. She's so beautiful, she could get any man to be with her—I don't understand why she'd be dumb enough to waste all that by dating a lesbi—"I know, mom. I know. By the way, thank you for this lovely cut of steak. The sauce goes really well with it too!She doesn't know me... only the parts that she decides to remember. That bright, bubbly straight kid who everyone loved? Yeah, that's the one. Everything stopped after that, when I started to discover (and accept) who I really was. Since then, I've been nothing more than a threat to her clout. So, I guess while (I hope) it sort of pains her to see me leave every now & then, I'm sure it brings her relief to know that I won't be there to damage her rep. There won't be anyone gossiping behind her back about how she has a fat, gay child. No one will see that. As far as everyone knows, she only has her obedient, conservative kids.And now, it's the holidays—and I dread it. I feel that visceral churning within my gut just at the thought of me staying there at my mom's for a week or two.That's why we're here... in this website. It's 3 in the morning, a couple of days away from Christmas & I'm miserable—AND I feel bad for feeling this way—enough for me to search Google for an anonymous rant site, because there's no one I could talk to. All my friends are jealous of me, and I'm way too shy to even bother my S/O about the same ol' thing over & over again. S/he's amazing—don't get mad at him/her. S/he's always been there to listen & reaffirm me. But I'm tired of it, of everything. I really just want to get this over with, if only I didn't want to hurt him/her.