I'm so glad I mean this much to you.

So, let's give you a scenario and you try to imagine it, 'kay?

You're in a band with your best friend and another friend of yours. Granted, you've never had much luck with it, but it makes you really happy. That's why you host practices at your grandmother's house even when the others don't show up, even though you get berated for not practicing enough. That's why you stay even though they make decisions without you, or criticize whatever you wrote or how you want to sing it. That's why you stick with them, even though more often than not you end up feeling like a third wheel because you've got dangerously low self-esteem due to years of emotional abuse from both family and peers, and you feel like you can't do anything when everyone else is so good.

They constantly tell you that you're good at singing, that you're a good lyricist, that if you applied yourself you could play an instrument. They tell you that everyone else is wrong, that you are worth something. And it makes you feel really good, even when it makes you feel really bad.

Then, one day, your best friend calls you and says something along the lines of, "We're not practicing enough and we don't even have a name anymore; the band is over." You're shocked. You knew that they had a tendency to just make decisions without you while claiming that you're important and you're the headman and blah-blah-blah, and even vehemently denying that they ever made decisions without you. But you never thought they would do something like this.

You're nearly crying at this point. Your tone is laced with pain, abandonment, desperation, and more sarcasm than usual when you reply, "Cool! Now I can devote all my time to writing!" You don't know why you aren't happier; you had tried to quit before, and you wanted to be a writer anyway, right? But then you realize that maybe you weren't meant to be a writer; people constantly say they can see you as an actor or singer or insane dictator or serial killer or even someone who stalks celebrities (the person who said the last one was promptly shut up), but they never say anything like writer. You realize that people see you in the center of attention when you're older. When they look ahead they see you causing riots or on a big screen in Hollywood or see teenagers singing your songs. They see you in the spotlight, not behind a computer making your living with words on a page.

A few days later you're talking to your friend. You'd decided that day that you were sick of who you'd become; you couldn't even walk with your head up anymore and it was pathetic, just memorizing the floor everywhere you went. No wonder you've got neck problems. But that night you're making a Transmogrifier (like in Calvin and Hobbes) and using ACTUAL wires. (When your stepmom examined your Transmogrifier, her only response to your excited babbling was, "You're REALLY bored, aren't you?"

You casually bring up your old band (thinking of it like that still brings a dull ache to your chest). You were listening to all the renditions of Nightmare Before Christmas songs by various artists. So you tell your best friend, "Hey, if we ever make a band again, can we cover 'What's This?' from Nightmare Before Christmas?" Her only response is saying, without a hint of remorse, "Oh, me and Paige are already in another band." Again, you're shocked. She always berates you for not telling her anything anymore, and yet she never told you this, or that her sister got married. You somehow manage to respond in a way that seems like you're happy for the two of them, but at the same time don't give a crap. But anyone would be able to sense your pain, the way your voice constricts with hidden tears, right? Apparently not.

Then one of you has to get off the phone, (you don't remember which, but you were very eager to hang up at this point) and you just sit there, wishing you could be someone or something else and hating yourself more than you have in a long time, wondering what's wrong with you that the people you thought were your friends could do this, and STILL think that nothing's wrong, even when you eventually TELL your "best friend" that you're upset about it. That you CRIED.

They finally have a guitarist; great for them. Of course, they don't have a vocalist, but your own best friend doesn't even think about you until your old teacher points it out, and then just says, "I guess you could join..." like it's the most revolting idea in the world.

This is what happened to me. The band I'd been so happy about? Gone. The friends I've had for longer than I can remember? Who the f*** even knows.

Am I just overreacting? Seriously? I don't think so. Then again, what do I know? What am I worth? I haven't felt this worthless since I moved out of my mother's house. Thanks a lot, 'friends'. You're freaking amazing. Of course, if you actually READ this you'll just say I'm overreacting or you didn't do anything or it's not your fault if I feel like sh*t or whatever. Excuses. Just like what you said today: "My uncle was one of the good Nazis! He only did it for food!"

So you'd sell your so-called 'best friend' for food? Is that it? Thanks. I'm SO glad I mean so much to you. [end sarcasm]