Oh. It wasn't supposed to hurt this much. Somebody stop the tears. They just keep flowing. My eyes are weary from all the crying but the tears just keep coming. It hurst so bad. I can't believe you said that. I finally open up to you and tell you what I'm going through and you turn around and MOCK me. And you still have the AUDACITY to ask me why I never tell you what happens in school. Do you have your answer now? Because I'm afraid of getting hurt. By my own mother.

Sure, this solo might seem like a small thing to you but it definitely isn't to me. It's the first thing I think about when I wake up and the last thing I think about before I go to sleep. For someone who's been used to only being next to the spotlight for so long, being thrust into it all of a sudden is not easy for me. Not one bit. I finally pluck up the courage to tell you I'm scared. To get some encouragement. And you turn around and call me a loser. Those were the exact words you used. I'm not going to forget it for a very long time. And you go and complain to my father about how I'm afraid to play just one line alone. You wouldn't know. You've never been thorough it.

All I asked for today is your understanding. That at least even if you don't like the way I am, how afraid I am of doing this..at least don't rub it in. All I got in return was more sarcasm. You laughed in my face. I don't mind you talking, or yelling rather, ranting on about how my teachers must hate to have a student like me, how my marks disgust you so much. I'm used to it. No, the punching didn't hurt much either. It just stung for a couple of minutes. But that comment on my solo was what did it. Now the tears refuse to stop. It hurts. Bad.
lifeonthemurderscene9:25 PM