I do not know when I grew either leather, vinyl or canvas skin. But I do know that I have become the often used metaphorical punching bag.
I am the one who is used to talk rough to. I am the one used to complain to. I am the only one treated like the child whilst the others are given their wrongfully placed independence. I am the one who has to answer questions whilst the others have no question asked of them.
I do not know when I became the punching bag. But I do know that I have become tired of crying more than I don’t. I do know that even though I may seem like I take the punches without feeling it, without being weathered; I feel every fricken touch of words struck to my skin, struck to my ears.
Every single touch.
Unidentifiable 
Time to speak up and speak out, in a respected manner, to those who are treating you like a “punching bag”.
If they won’t listen or fail or care to understand, if possible . . . distance. And that can come in many forms.
But in the end, I hope things work out for you.
Thank you for your kind words. I never expect anyone to comment on my stuff. It’s a pleasant surprise.
You’re welcome. Sometimes a post requires more than a click of the like button.🙂 Hope things turn out okay for you.