You've said you're sorry a million times and I believe you. And I'm trying to forgive you, but I'm just not there yet. But it's Thanksgiving and it's sectionals, and I miss you like crazy and I can't stand not talking to you even though I'm mad at you, because you're still my best friend.
They don't. They're trying to protect me, but what they need to understand is if I'm not being true to myself at least when I'm performing then there won't be anything left inside me to protect. So they can keep talking about sending me to a camp for little boys who like to wear dresses, but I will not and cannot be ashamed of who I am or how I look.