Blood

My heart broke back in my [even] younger days when my mother called me during class, crying her throat hoarse. All because her pride had been trampled on by a judgmental stranger. And I wept, for her pride and my own, because what daughter would be okay with being helpess while her mother bawls hopelessly?

That was the day when I realized fully how much it broke me. It being my dad's mistakes and my complacency and my mom's wilful ignorance.

It got to the point where I was so jaded that I laughed at their splashes of paint and called them artistic attempts.

You could say I was positive and unwilling for life to keep me down but now I feel like I'm not as hopeful as I once was. I don't know what's gotten into me. When I'm with friends I feel perfectly fine but the times when I go all broody and sick of life are becoming much too frequent.

And I feel guilt.
It weighs me down.
I spend my money on frivolous, selfish satisfactions. Like concerts, CDs, good food, brithdays, movies, etc.
It'd be prudent of me to put that money towards paying off my home, but the mere thought of passing up a concert of my beloved bands makes me want to sob in anguish.

So I'm perpetually in between wanting to blame my family and myself. I know I shouldn't blame anything or anyone and that I should make the best of my situation and be all glass half-full but sometimes I want to smash that freaking glass against a wall and hope nobody steps on the shards. Because then I'd be blamed for real.

That doesn't even make any sense.