Hello. Yeah. It's me. I know it's not a slash or whatever, but I wrote this a while ago and posted it on Mibba without posting it on here... I just thought I'd do that. Don't know why. Updates are scarse because I have mock exams so plz dnt kill me.

Um. If anyone is going through something like this, feel free to talk to me about it.

Yeah, so, that's about it. Enjoy?

An argument. Again. You lose. You storm off to your room. Again. Thinking you're right.

I stay in my own space, trying not to care. I blank the situation out; think of other things, nicer things, better worlds than this.

You come out of your room and quietly knock on the door, asking whether you can come in. I tell you no, but you come in anyway.

You sit down on my bed with tears down your cheeks. I ignore you.

You start sniffling. I ignore you.

You let out a sob and tell me you're sorry. Again. I ignore you.

You come over to me and put your arms around me. I stiffen, and stare into space blankly until you finally drop your arms and let me go. You tell me you're sorry. I ignore you, looking out the window and into the garden you just decorated after telling me you couldn't afford to buy me anything. You call my name and I move my stare to the newly painted door of my room.

You tell me that you don't know what to do. That if I tell you something I want you to do, you'll do it. That you're willing to try. And that if there's anything you can do to make up for it, tell you. But the truth is, there is nothing you can do. No amount of hugs or kisses, or channels on the TV, or new clothes, or nice things will make up for your repeatedly rash actions. I want you to change. That's what I want.

But there's no point in telling you. Again. Because all you seem to do is try, and then give up when you're bored and miss being able to do what you want without consequence, because I am but fifteen and have no power over you. I want you to mean you're sorry when you say it. I want you to be honest with me and tell me everything, rather than just the parts you want me to hear so that you don't look bad. I want you to be able to demand respect and be able to tell me that you show me as much respect as you want me to show you. I want you to show me that you mean it when you say you love me. I want you to love me for who I am, not for how much I do for you; not for how much I do what you want; not because you love yourself, but because you really, genuinely love me and want me to be happy, for me. Is that too much to ask?

You've proved that you haven't done any of those things, and that you don't even want to be those things because you're not willing enough to change. You tell me you care about me, but you don't. I know you don't because I tell you what I want; simple things, that a mother should give - and you hardly even try. When you don't try, it hurts. Again and again. It hurts that you don't care enough even to try.

All my life I have been building a wall - a barrier. A safe place in my mind for me to stay while I'm with you, to protect me from you. That wall has made me stronger, and now, when the time comes to tell you what I really feel, I am strong enough, with my wall around me, to tell you that I don't care. I have trained myself not to care anymore, because I know that if I care too much, that if I get my hopes up, the tower of hope will come tumbling down and the higher up I am on that tower, the further I will fall. There is no tower of hope. I have none. I do not think you will ever change. Ever. I am happy within these walls, safe from you, and I know that this time, when you tell me you're sorry, it's just another sorry. Empty promises and apologies. I don't have to take it. Any of it. I can live without you, and for the first time in my life, I have a choice never to see you again and have welcomed that choice with open arms, so you can start afresh with your new husband. Perhaps you will consider trying with your remaining relationships, if you care about them enough. I, for one, have been torn too many times by your carelessness. Consider me gone. But this time, there will be no again.

That was not just a piece of creative writing; it was a statement.

Life isn't a game of power, Agnes. It isn't a constant battle against everyone else. Life isn't the way you think it is; things don't work the way you think they do. Sometimes, people really, genuinely mean things they say, and sometimes, people do things for you just because they wanted to, or because they care about you, not because they want something in return, or because they want you to feel bad, or because it would somehow get them something they want. That's something you need to learn. The things I do... I think you interpret sometimes in your own way, that I am doing them to get somewhere, that I have some sort of plan to catch you out which is carried out through every one of my actions. I don't. And I don't like to think that you have a plan, and whenever I do something, you think of some scheme to retaliate with... like a game of chess. Life isn't a game of chess, mum, and I hope that you don't try and retaliate to this letter as if it was an attack, or think that I'm trying to cause you pain by sending you it. I'm not. I just want you to understand.

Please consider the amount of pain you have put me through throughout my life and childhood. If that has all been for nothing, which I suspect it has, you will not change. I know you won't, because nothing is important enough to you for that to happen. I can't make you change, cliff can't make you change, counsellors with rocks from the beach and silly ideas about language barriers can't make you change, psychologists, anger management... nothing and nobody can make you change.

Except you.

Would you change for me? Even if there was nothing in it for you?