Golden Child.

I honestly do not know where to begin - and that seems stupid considering there have been so many thoughts running through my head in the past 48 hours.

Lets start with a simple thought - them.

I can't comprehend the last time I wanted to get out of this place so much. The walls are like a cage, and every movement, ever sound of which they make pulses my head that little bit more. I hate the fact that my mother favours her. Its torture - I feel numb when I think about it but its the black truth. Everything she does is appraised and given ten gold stars. But whenever I do something its simply a shadow that she has cast before. My mum comes upstairs and wonders why I'm sad or why I'm scowling. Why can't she see? Why is this only rellevant to me?

It could be the fact that this is selfish? But then I resent saying that because this feeling is utterly revolting.

To you this may seem petty but to be honest the fucking world revolves around her and to them - when shes home I'm jackshit. I simply sit up here and become one with the paint work. I'm not clever like her, I don't have charisma like her - and heck my 'gift' with words is a fucking myth when shes around.

This weekend the repulsive guitar broke. The computer saw some sense and decided to die on me - and guess what? "Oh Helen broke the guitar." I did not. The guitar had always been faulty. They complain that I never played it, I doubt when you read this, that you will understand what I say next but I am going to say it anyway. When I play a guitar, its not simply folding your fingers around a piece of maple - its a way in which you can communicate exactly the standards of your mind in one finger stroke. What they do not understand is that if part of that guitar was broken, then how the hell am I supposed to play it with 100% passion? I can't! Its not about the price, what it does, and who made it. Not to me - its about what I can play on it and if it makes me happy.

That guitar never made me happy.

So tomorow we're going to Birmingham (again) to swap it for store credit and I'm going to purchase a new one. Obviously, not to a standard of shitty self tuning computers. Though, my sister has to come apparently.

No.

I don't want her to come - she doesn't need to come. Infact its one of the many things she hates - but according to my mother she needs to navigate her up there. For christ sake! She's never even been therefore she doesn't know the damn way. But no, golden child has to come because apparently, even though for the last two journeys I have drowned out my parents argueing with the memoris of important landmarks, Helen knows nothing. As usual.

They don't even care if I fail my GCSE's. But with her it was all revise, revise, revise. I'd rather have that than nothing at all!

I'm so sick of playing second best because it feels like theres this big weight pressing on my chest and I can sure as hell think of one way to get rid of it. I really, really hate this place at the moment. And I really need a hug - but not even thats going to make this go away. Everything simple runs hand in hand with pandafuckingmodium. I don't want to pretend to not care about this anymore because I really do. And everytime she comes waltzing home I always end up feeling like shit.

And then my mother wonders why I ask if I can go to the doctors about *******? Ugh I bet if SHE asked she'd get it sorted to just like golden child should.

Well fuck you.