I had always been the unloved kid of my family, the unwanted one, the “oops” kid, the child my parents wanted to abort but sadly the time for the procedure had gone by. The child who was hated by her siblings, always the reason for chaos in the family, never treated with love rather looked with disdain. I have gone through it all and had always believed that there was something wrong with me, I have observed my elder sister treat my cousin with care, while completely disregarding my existence, as a kid I was pushed to the corner of the bed as she didn’t feel comfortable sleeping bedside me. I was blamed for my brother’s decline in mental health, I was always considered as the prime reason he had went through depression. During those harsh periods of my life I had accepted myself as the villain, I had recognized myself as the bad person and I had lived with that image where I had hated myself to the core and had identified as the ugly, cruel being. At the prime age of 18, I had lost all confidence and always felt that I was never enough. My sanity was somewhere lost, and I had to devise myself to carry this façade that I was a jolly, loud and happy person in front of my friends while being the submissive, quiet one in front of my relatives. In the midst of satisfying others, I have lost myself, in an attempt to make my parents happy I have shredded myself into pieces, but eventually, I had been left empty-handed. The vacuum had consumed me to such an extent that I don’t even feel an ounce of self-love for myself. Now, even 4 years later things haven’t altered much for me, I am sitting in the same junction and the behavior and attitude of my family are fairly the same. However, I have had my clarity and acceptance of being the unloved kid, but certain wounds are too deep to be healed and the poignant pain from them persists.