<p>When I was younger, I used to fantasize about riding horses. A few males I was acquainted with appeared in these dreams, but only as grooms and servants bearing flowers.</p>
<p>I wrote all my dreams down in my diary. My brother, upon discovering said diary, brought it to church and read it aloud during Sunday school to everyone there, “grooms” included. I have never lived that down. As is such, my brother and I do not communicate (even now) if it is not necessary; I have no interest in speaking to an individual with no scruples. The *<strong><em>ing idiot managed to ruin my childhood in so many ways (telling the whole world about embarrassing incidents that happened at home, making me look stupid at every opportunity, slapping me in public for no reason because he wanted to look cool for his friends, etc.). My parents did nothing about these incidents, but that’s a whole other can of worms. The thing is, he’s a *</em></strong>**bag, point blank.</p>
<p>The day I turned 13, I had to play piano at a party someone was hosting. While I was playing, a young child came and overturned the piano. My performance never recovered, and since I had the jitters so bad, The Entertainer was reduced to terrible-sounding noise. Same goes for Maple Leaf Rag and the other ragtime pieces I was playing.</p>
<p>After that performance, I went in a bathroom and cried for seven hours straight.</p>
<p>Since then, I have never cried again.</p>