Disappointed. Again.

I'm a middle child. I have a brother who is four years older than me, and a sister who is six years younger. I'm not the much anticipated first child, nor am I the last baby.

It's a difficult position to be in.

I have no doubt that my parents love me. They probably love me every bit as much as they love my siblings. It's just that sometimes, it doesn't feel like it. It's not about great big gestures of affection, or anything like that. It's about tiny little things. Things that I feel silly about noticing.

My parents are usually late in picking me up from the airport when I'm coming home from the city. I've been told many times to start walking, they'll be there soon. This has never happened to my sister.

I've lived in the city for over four years now, and my parents have never visited me here. They've driven me down here for the start of the school year, but they've never come here just to see me. My friends' parents come at least once per semester, if not more often. My parents used to visit my brother when he was away at school. He lived a lot closer, it's true, but that doesn't soothe the sting.

This year, my sister got a big birthday party with lots of cake and lovely food. For my birthday, I got to spend most of the day home alone without any presents, and my mother made food I don't like for dinner. Sure, it was my sister's eighteenth birthday, and my twenty fourth. I don't begrudge my sister her party. Eighteen is a big deal. But the contrast was just so enormous.

My mother has admitted that she would rather ask me to do things than either of my siblings, because I'm much more likely to do what she asks. I suppose that's a testament more to my siblings' unwillingness to help out than my parents lack of love for me, but you know what? It still makes me feel like the one that does all the work with none of the praise. Because praise? It's unusual in my family. You're more likely to hear 'why didn't you clean the bathroom as well?' than 'thank you for cleaning the kitchen'.

They never suggest that I come home to visit them. My friends' parents are practically begging them to come home as often as possible, while mine don't seem to care at all whether I come or not.

A few days ago, I got a text from my sister asking me whether I'd like to go home two weekends from now. Dad's paying. Well, I called him up to check if they had any flight times in mind, and it turns out that my sister is going on the first plane of the day, while I have lectures to attend, and would not be able to go at that time. Instead of suggesting I come on a later flight, he said 'Oh well. There will be other weekends.' But I know there won't be. I've lived here for four years. I know the pattern. I go home for Christmas, for Easter and for the summer. I.e. when there's a reason to, other than 'we just want to see you'.

I could go on. But I'm already depressed.