I woke up on Sunday to the sound of birds chirping, and sun shining brightly through my window. For me, that is never a good sign. It's kind of a taunt, saying how oh yeah, you think today seemed all happy and was going to be a great day, but mark my words, the turtles will come back to bite you. Pun intended.

I heard the sound of my favorite country station playing Glass by Thompson Square on my radio. I couldn't help that the song always makes me cry.

"We may shine, we may shatter

We may be picking up the pieces her on after

We are fragile, we are human"

Generally, I would pretend my brush was a microphone and I would prance around the room pretending I was the country singer I always longed to be, not that that would ever happen because there was always the impending doom of tripping over recording equipment, causing my to turn a darker than tomato red. My blush made me feel like a baboon. Of course, that usually ended with my mom telling me it was too early in the morning and to shut up (curse words excluded).

I always did this, because it was my only opportunity to just let go and be myself. Even though I knew I looked like a fool, an that was putting it lightly. I knew that I looked crazy, but at that moment I felt that I could just be myself and not take the crap that everyone gives me. Strangely enough, singing and dancing like a bird on steroids made me feel confident. The thing is I never could stand up for myself because I did not have the backbone to do it. Amazing how certain events in a life alter an individual so much.

My childhood has always been a little rough. My dad ditched my mom, my twin brother Mason - Mace for short - and I before we were born. I heard that he was kind of a knock up and run kind of guy. I was so glad when she found my step-dad later on in life. That all changed when they had my bratty little sister Paris. My question is why in hell would they name her after a messed-up celebrity. And if they named her after the city, what's the word for stupid in French?

Anyway, I never met my dad in my life, but I didn't want to. Because of that, my mom had to work two jobs so that she could raise us. We moved around a lot, from trailer park to trailer park. From one sketchy place to another sketchy place. Finally, my aunt decided to help us out, because Grandmother said that we were "ruining the family name." Nobody in the rest of our family talked to us because they are all such narcissists that they could not even help out anybody, unless it involved publicity. Of course, you are all wondering what family I come from that they would do such a horrible thing.

They are the Foresters, twelfth wealthiest family in the world (A/N btw, that is total fiction, I have no idea who the twelfth richest family is)and they fit the archetype of rich people perfectly.

When we were out on the streets, we did not receive a penny from any family member, until Aunt Regina took us in, and put us back on our feet. She was the only one who talked to us, the only one who sympathized with us. Because she allowed us to stay with her, the family ignored her existence as well.

Then as if it wasn't bad enough, my aunt got breast cancer. Thank G-d she survived, but during that time, the Foresters got the media on it, to make it seem that we were such a close knit family, and that we would all survive it together. We had to sign a confidentiality agreement in order to make sure that no one found out. After she survived and the media went away, they went back to ignoring us.

Only, Grandmother decided to talk to us again, which was possibly the worst thing that happened that year. Every time she visits, we have to wear fancy clothing, we have to act like servants, listen to her every criticism, and go out with whoever she feels is "suitable" for a Forester. She loves Erin the most because she is so proper, she likes Mace because he is polite and reminds her of her deceased husband. However, unlike my other family members, she detests me because I look too much like my mother and act to much like my father. I bite my tongue when she compares me to my father. Her cruel words give me the worst feeling, almost worse than what the slimy turtle did to my heart. This was a different kind of heart break. It was that feeling that I get whenever I think about my father, the feeling that nobody loves me, or accepts me because I'm not good enough for them. Well, screw them, the stupid almighty Forestwhores.

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