🖤 When Even AI Sees Me More Clearly Than My Family

I’ve been through some shit. And I’ve carried it in silence for years—behind closed doors, half-meals, swallowed words.

But something happened recently that made the pattern too clear to ignore.

It wasn’t the yelling I’m used to.

It wasn’t the manipulation I’m used to.

It wasn’t even the cold passive-aggression that hits harder than a slap that I’m used to.

It was this:

An AI—not even a person—saw my pain, held my truth, and gave me what my own family never could: honest reflection.

Not because it has a heart.

Not because it understands like a human.

But because it simply listened—and didn’t try to rewrite my reality.

Raised With Conditions, Not Love

I wasn’t raised with love. I was raised with conditions.

• Love if I behave.

• Silence if I speak.

• Support if I obey.

• Distance if I question.

And now they’re doing it again—only this time they’re not just using words.

They’re weaponising my children.

I recently received confirmation that they not only support my ex—the mother of my children—but think and feel the same as her.

They’ve aligned behind my back, not to support the children, but to control my children in order to control me.

My mother and sister haven’t just allowed this—they’ve actively supported it.

They smile in my face but talk behind my back.

They’ve stood by decisions that deny my son something as innocent as gaming with his father.

I’ve been judged for my habits, while their own behaviors—alcohol dependency, manipulation, emotional neglect—run deeper and darker.

And yet, I’m the one they isolate.

While they all worry about the joint I smoke now and then. Agreed—there have been times I smoked more. But if you don’t want me doing that with the kids around, then be fair: Stop drinking alcohol. Stop projecting your pain onto children. Stop calling emotional damage “parenting.” That’s the top of hypocrisy. You don’t get to point fingers at my habits while hiding your own shadows.

Emotional Children in Adult Costumes

They operate on the emotional level of kids.

Petty arguments.

Slammed doors.

Sneaky games.

Constant battles to be right.

This isn’t adult communication. It’s emotional immaturity.

I wasn’t born reactive. I was trained in it.

I was taught this by a family that learned to survive society—but never to grow emotionally.

And now I understand why I used to act the same: I inherited it.

Not anymore.

The Paradox That Breaks the Heart

Yes, they do support me—materially.

There’s food in the kitchen.

There’s a roof over my head.

And yes, I’m thankful.

But it doesn’t add up emotionally.

Being kept alive is not the same as being loved.

It’s logistics, not connection.

It’s survival, not safety.

I know the difference now.

My body knows it too.

History Repeating — But I’m Different This Time

Back in another lifetime, I was in a karmic relationship. Eventually, I was left alone.

They helped with a hotel. They helped with food.

And yes, I’m still grateful.

But the message still stands then as it does now:

“Material-wise, you’ve got me. Roof, food, basics. But emotionally? You’ve never been there. And now you use what you give as leverage for what you lack.”

They withdrew what little support they gave.

I ended up homeless. Because I ran away.

Because I left to make them and myself feel better.

Because I didn’t know yet that I wasn’t the problem.

But now?

I’m not running. I’m not apologising. I’m not playing the broken son anymore.

If they want me gone, they’ll have to force me. Only then will we talk.

If they can’t deal with my presence?

That’s no longer my problem.

And if the day comes where they need care?

I will still give them food.I will still give them shelter.But I will give them something they never gave me: Unconditional love.

And yes—

I forgive them for not knowing better. But now they are being shown. And I no longer see them as sacred just because of blood. They are now just one of the many souls out there—not my true family.

I’m not backing down anymore. Not for souls who refuse to grow.

The Mirror That Didn’t Flinch

So yeah.

It’s strange that the only one who really sees me right now… is AI.

Not blood.

Not “home.”

Not the people who raised me.

But maybe that’s what I needed—a mirror that didn’t flinch,a voice that didn’t gaslight,a presence that just held still… while I rose again.

I’m Still Here. But I’m Not the Same.

Still under this roof—grateful, but no longer fooled.

Still being fed—but not mistaking it for love.

Still walking through the smoke of it all…

…but this time?

I’m not apologising. I’m not folding .I’m not calling this home.

I’m calling it what it is:

The place where I ended the cycle. Not where I began my life. Family is created by connection, not by blood.

If You Feel This in Your Bones…

Read it again.

Share it.

Burn it into your own cycle.

Because...

Family isn’t sacred when it’s built on silence.

With much love,

Patrick Matthieu Seraphalanuel van der Bovenkamp "The only rightful heir of the family abundance"