You came in my room while I was reading, saying that you were going to leave for his basketball game, and you get off topic talking about things I really don't want to here about. So I simply said "Okay, go on..." and you reply saying "You know what? Never mind. It doesn't matter. See you later."
I didn't do anything wrong. I wanted to know when you were coming back, but no, it doesn't matter.
What you don't know is as soon as you left I started to cry. I'm crying as I write this.
I don't get why you always get mad at me for those kinds of things.
What about Jason and Ryan? They say worse things. And what do you do? Nothing. You just go with it like it's okay.
It's always about them. Always.
You won't be home all day because of Jason. First he has a basketball game, then you're both taking him to one with a friend. How come I never have that option? Why am I always the one left home alone?
And Ryan. He was in Quebec this past week, and every day I swear you said "Ryan hasn't let me know how's he doing today." or "I wonder what Ryan's doing right now?" Well, you know, I honestly don't care, because I'm sure he's fine. And I can guarantee you've never done that for me before. I can guarantee it.
The biggest thing that pisses me off is that if YOU did this, I'd be fine. I wouldn't let it bother me. I wouldn't flip out on you. But, oh, if I say the slightest little thing in a calm voice, you get all mad and are all rude. Oh my God. OH my GOD. Nobody understands how much that bothers me. Far too many people are like that. I feel like I need to shoot someone whenever they're like that.
Anyway.
Well, you know what, bitch?
I'm glad I'm home alone.
I don't want to be around you.
I look forward to being alone. I like it. No one bothering me. No one in this freaking family to bug the freaking crap out of me, again, just like every day.
You don't know who I am.
You don't know what I think.
You don't know that I look forward to school because I'm around people who I actually enjoy being with.
I'd rather be with my freaking reading teacher than you.
I'm going back to my "not talking much around my family" stage.
I have a lot of things to say.
But you don't care. And you never will. So why try?
I'm going to go play the piano. I'm going to play "I Dreamed a Dream" from Les Miserables and freaking sing my heart out. I am going to get washed away in the music, and even though I can't play the ending, I'm going to try, and my anger will wither away. And I'll move on.
Just like my last post.
Forgive and Forget.