Why are coats so important?

I've never, not understood, something so greatly in my short years here on this planet. I know you can call me over dramatic or whatever terrible thing you choose to call me upon reading this, but I feel this is the only real way to explain how I felt upon returning home last night. Basically, what had been a really bad day on account of work, turned into a worse day on account of my family, which turned into a colossally horrible day on account of my own thought patterns. I most likely could have avoided the entirety of my misery if I had have just not gone home, if I had refused to go home in the allotted time.

For the last two weeks, my parents have been on my back, in such a way that I cannot rid myself of the guilt they put on me. I left two coats at school, one at derrick's and Julianna has my football coat. Four coats that just aren't in the house, and my parents are outraged by it. They have been consistently taunting me and harassing me about these coats. Anyway, that's simply the preamble. After the annoyance of the lost coats, I've become the conduit of guilt in the household. Meaning, every time something is lost, broken, misplaced, or even mistaken for something else in the house, I'm the first to come to blame. I apparently lost my father's coat, and shoes. I also lost a watch that hasn't left my room in two years, not to mention the fact that I've appeared to have lost my mother's coat as well. I haven't worn any of these things in so long, that I don't remember the last time I saw them, not to mention the fact that most of the articles, besides my own, wouldn't fit me at all. This is all foolish, but it gets worse.

Last night, after having to come home from Quinn's early, I was confronted by my father. He'd actually enumerated a list of all the things I've "lost" in the last year. He didn't understand why I was so upset with him, he actually referred to his audacious confrontation as a "calm conversation" with me. Needless to say it got out of hand, and he condemned me to home until I found all the items on the list. This was just fantastic. I've been trying so hard to make common ground with my father but all he seems to care about are his TVs and possessions that go missing that aren't even his. He's pushing himself further and further away from me, and even though I ask him to work out with me, run with me, cook with me, he seems to take the liberty of doing all this without me. I'm done trying, this is the end of my attempts to make amends with that man. I can barely consider him my father anymore, he's simply my mother's enforcer.

So, upon entering the house, in a fit of rage, I got to my room as quickly as possible and threw myself onto my bed, face down. I didn't want to use my computer, or my cell phone, they were all possession given to me by my parents, who considered me to not have any respect for the possession they had given me. I didn't want to give them the benefit of the doubt and think they had anything to take away from me. Foolish, I know. I was laying there, thinking, and I began to ponder of all the pressures they put on me to do so well. All the things that I'm striving to do well, and the only appreciation I get for any of it is a pat on the back whenever my report card comes through. However, this pat on the back is always accompanied with the reminder that "You could do better, get Valedictorian, or you're not part of the family anymore." Of course they attend a couple of my concerts, however, because of my fantastic mother's critical nature, the only words I get about the shows are how badly I sang, and how I shouldn't "scream" when I'm playing any more, that it doesn't sound good. Do they support my writing? Maybe, but I'd never know, they'd never tell, they're too busy being angry with me.

So, here I was, face down on my bed, and I didn't want to talk to any one. Couldn't talk to any one, about how deep in the hole I was. I didn't want to because I've heard it so often that I knew I would just sound like I was whining. I know I've got it good, I've got more than most, but sometimes I suppose it's hard too. Julianna was in the states, but I don't find I could tell her anyway, for some reason I think that would make it less possible for her to be open with me. I thought about talking to Ashley, but I didn't want to bother her, we were on such jovial terms that I didn't want her to have to worry about simple trepidations in my life at the time. There was always Becky, but she has enough to worry about... I didn't want to make her have part of my burden, she seems to take the dramatic, slightly over dramatically.

All of "JEESH" surely turned their backs on me, so how could I go to them and ask for comfort when I know none of them care at all. I'm calling all of you out, if any of you read this. I haven't gotten so much as a phone call, and Erica seemed begrudging to even hear from me in the mall let alone hug me back. I can taste the lies on the air you people live in. You told me I was your best friend, or one of so, then upon a break up, you flat out leave me. I appreciate it. Honestly.

And, once again, Liz came into my mind. I wanted to reach out, to call her, to end all this stupid feuding, the stopped looks between us. I wanted to tell her that I understood her pain, and to apologize for all the times I was insincere, or uncaring. But I suppose I can't do that, and will never be able to. So therefore, I was alone. Completely and entirely alone. My parents didn't want to talk to me, my sister wouldn't want to talk to me, and none of my friends have shown me that I can really come to them with whatever is wrong. I was truthfully, and utterly alone in that moment.