Excerpt from the Shiloh Jolie-Pitt autobiography in 2025

I never felt any real love from my mother. It was always a forced thing, much like our smiles on the cover of our Amnesty International Christmas Cards each year, or our United Colors of Benetton ads after Daddy left us for Anthony Michael Hall, when we needed a little more money for blood decantors. No, I never measured up to her and her expectations of what a daughter should be. I was always letting her down. I was always falling behind in my Vietnamese lessons, and could never master chop sticks, I couldn't play the Cambodian National Anthem on the tabla, nor could I master the history of Zaire or be comfortable with rings around my neck. And this was a problem that set me apart, and brought me the loathing of my siblings. Indeed, I was considered ungrateful, and was always catching hell for not feeding Mia Farrow, whom mother kept chained in the basement, lest she adopt more children and take away from her glory. Sometimes, Mother would make dress up in a Hello Kitty dress and pretend I was Soon-Yi, and I had to tell her I was off to fuck Woody, as I placed the Alpo in Mia's bowl. "Oooh, I can't wait to take the glasses off of Woody and make him stammer even more!" I would have to say. It was really quite traumatic for all of us. But you know Mother - no stopping HER in her quest for the mothering award from the mothership.
And I could never do anything right in her eyes. She wanted me to be like her, and I failed miserably. I couldn't stop going to school, and I would spend hours each weekend, hiding in the garden shed, studying for the S.A.T.'s and choosing colleges. I couldn't bring myself to wear vials of blood, or cut myself, or sleep with every man and woman I knew. I couldn't even kiss Maddox. Mother would just shake her head and walk away, scooping up a handful of children and hugging them, the way I wanted her to hug me.
Dad was no help - he was busy with Anthony Michael. I don't even think he's gay - I think he just chose to leave with him because, well, he hasn't made the best love choices in his life, and, well, he needed to take his sabbatoge one step further, especially since Jennifer Anison Suzuki kept taunting him with her humanitarian efforts. So I was alone, alone in my misery. I thought, perhaps, things would pick up, after mother married Frank from Trading Spaces. However, it was not to be. She wanted him only to harvest the salt out of the sweat on Frank's clothes, which she then bartered for children in Nepal. 4 children for a bushel of salt - she couldn't lose..... she just couldn't lose.
This story is one not for the faint of heart. But it does tell of a little girl lost and her quest to find herself. And blood vial or no blood vial, family is forever.