This I Believe

For my English class, we had to write a "This I Belive" essay, like they do for NPR (National Public Radio). I'm posting mine on here cos 1) I want to and 2) it made me cry ._.
Well, here it is.

Cherish your friends. Sometimes, they’re the only people that really care about you. In a world of two-faced, backstabbing liars, your friends could be the only people that stick by you until the end and can listen to you while you scream at them without being judgmental.
A lot of people believe that your family is the people that live in your house. I believe that they are dead wrong. Your family can be anyone that genuinely cares and loves you for who you are, not what you’ve done or what you’ll become. My friends are my family, not the people I live with. Why? Because the people that “take care of me” wouldn’t even blink if I died tomorrow. My friends, my real family, they’d be devastated.
I have a lot of friends, and I’m close to all of them. They’re like adopted siblings to me, and I love every one of them. I know that, no matter what, they’ll have my back and they know I have theirs. They’re people that I’d gladly fight for, and I know that the same goes for them. My father and stepmother (notice I did not say my biological mother; that woman is the best.), on the other hand, would never fight for me. They have never fought for me, even while I was lying almost dead on a hospital bed my freshman year of high school. All they could think about was how much money my stupid mistake would cost them. Their visits were spent talking in raised voices and raised heart rates while doctors and nurses looked the other way and pretended not to hear.
When I returned to school, my friends were worried. I told them what happened. I didn’t lose any of them, and they didn’t judge me. They understood. They wanted to help me. I knew I didn’t have to fear any condescending glances or painful silences. I knew they cared about me, and they wanted me to be fine.
My sophomore year, I met my best friend. And by best friend, I mean something like a long-lost sister. All I can really say is thank God for A lunch and AFI concerts. I love her in a way that you can only love someone as close to you as a s sister, and the sad thing is, I don’t love my biological sisters as much as I do her, because she’s there for me, while they mock me with laughter and insults, and let me take the blame and abuse for their screw ups.
She listens to me while I rant about my life. She comforts me when no one else can. She doesn’t tell me that my feelings are wrong, unlike the people that are supposed to care about me the most. She knows when to make me laugh and just how to do it. She knows when to back of and when she needs to be my shoulder to cry on.
And I know when to do the same for her. She’s always under a lot of pressure from her father. Granted, I wish mine would put as much stress on academics as hers does, because at least I’d know he worries that I won’t have a future, instead of the constant barrage of “You’ll never be anything great! Go in to the Marines! At least if you die, it won’t be a waste of a good mind. You’re nothing.” But she doesn’t need that. Many times I have seen her cry because of the things he says of her. I can see the sting, and it hurts me to know that someone so outwardly strong can break just because of the lies her father spits in her face while her mother just watches and does nothing. Many times I have wanted to just beat the crap out of that man, because no one messes with my friends, my family. No one. But she puts up a strong front and a smile, telling me she’s fine, when we both know that, deep down, that isn’t the case.
She was there for me when my father called, screaming at me for signing an affidavit saying I wanted to live with my mother. She listened to my sobbing when my father told me he never wanted to see me again, that no daughter of his would betray him like this, and therefore I was not his daughter. She listened to my worry as I told her that I didn’t want to lose him that night, even though I never had him in the first place. She knew that nothing she could say would make the pain go away, but she always know when to listen.
Your family consists of people that care about you, not just people that are related to you. Your home is the place you want to be the most, with those people, when you’re going through Hell. My family is my friends, and my friends are my family. This I believe.

Sometimes It's Just Balls.

So I deleted my book blog that i had to do for school (only needed to use it twice. Could have predicted that.), and replaced it with this one. It's my "ARGH!!! I HATE PEOPLE!!! I WANNA BE A HERMIT COS PEOPLE PISS ME OFF!!!" blog.

I like talking. A lot. But that doesn't mean people always listen. Also, by people, I mean my Step-Bitch. She has this special ability to say things that normally wouldn't piss me off, but when they come from her, they make me want to, like, hit orphans with a car.

She is also the most idiotic woman on the face of the planet. She thinks she knows it all, but she doesn't. Obviously. She thinks that she has the power of being able to read my mind and predict my actions. Sorry, it's not that easy. NO ONE CAN DO THAT. People can't definitively predict the thoughts and actions of others. It's always subject to change, and you can never have an absolute definition of someone, either, because people change all the time.

But she doesn't believe that.

She's hellbent on making me look like the "bad guy" to everyone that knows me, then doesn't understand why I get pissed at her. Wouldn't you be angry if someone had your younger sisters convinced that you don't care about them? Wouldn't you be angry if that person's friends an colleagues treat you like a serial killer because of things that they heard that are totally NOT true? I hate liars, and that's what she is.

And what upsets me even more is that, whenever I do something "against her", she wants me to explain why I did it, but before I can, she rants about how I'm a crazy bitch that's out to kill her. Seriosly? Am I THAT bad of a person? No, I don't think so. She misunderstands everything I say and do, then acts like she's a victim. It sucks. I must have really fucked up in a past life or something, because I'm pretty sure I didn't do anything to deserve her harrassment.