This is a serious topic on which I wish to discuss with all of you.  You don't have to read it, but you can relate if you want.  This is purely non-fiction and real things that have happened.

I've always hated math and science.

It was never going to get me anywhere, or better yet help me in life.  From when I was around 6, I began piano lessons, and I was totally sucked into the world of fine arts.  I started writing a million stories, I started drawing anime and realism as well as abstract and landscapes and wallpapers.  I hated math so much and I always cried over my stupid tests.

In 7th grade, I got a D on my final.  A 67%.  Thank God the highest grade in the class was a 79.  Our class wasn't stupid though.  My teacher had incredibly high expectations and he thought that giving us a final that was supposed to be for Geometry students (when I was in pre-algebra in 7th grade) was beneficial.  It wasn't.  I literally remembering crying for days because math was stupid.  It was incredibly pointless to learn.  Just fuck math, fuck everything.

Then I entered eighth grade.  

In the beginning of the year, my new math teacher was not good at teaching.  It's hard to explain, but she wasn't one to push us to our limits.  Math started to become easier.  But the way she taught bothered my parents.  Every single day I came home and got yelled at because I had no homework.  Numerous times did my parents threaten to send me to another school.  I loved my school, and this was the first year I wasn't pressured.  It wasn't my parents that drove me to hate myself, it was my dad.  

It felt like his main job was to make me suffer.  A couple days ago, I finished half of my WW2 history project and I sat down to watch a movie when he stormed into my room and closed the computer.  

"What about your homework?"  He yelled.

"I finished half of my project and caught up with all of the science worksheets that I missed when I was sick."  I started to explain how I'd also cleaned my room and done the laundry as well as the dishes when he literally and I mean literally started screaming at me.  He lectured me on grades and how we should have never moved to America.  Both of my parents are always trying to persuade me into liking math and science.  In the future, I might, because for now I love music, art, and writing.  I always have.  The medical field has sparked an interest in me, but I never wanted to go into it.

Onto my art.

Drawing was one of the first talents I acquired.  I have a lot and I mean a lot of art supplies, but they're all cheap stuff like Crayola and permanent markers.  I've asked my parents several times for Copics or Prismacolors but they simply deny and say, "You're drawings aren't even good."  Now this is coming from a family in which nobody has ever had an art talent, rather an art major.

I swear, every single time I go to my parents to show them a drawing, a music contest prize, or a story that I'd completed, they just brush it off.  I hate that feeling.  The feeling of which you're so proud of something only to get an uninterested response.

Although, I rememeber I came home with an A+ on a math test I'd studied so hard for only to get a response from my dad saying, "Well?  That's good but that's expected of you.  Why aren't you in high honor classes?"  Honestly, I am a high honor student with all A's, but in math I'm only one level above my grade average.  There's another class that's two levels above the grade average.

Why do they fucking do this to us?  Aren't parents supposed to raise your self-esteem?  Aren't parents supposed to help you?  I can't count the number of times I've wanted to die and the number of times I wanted to kill my parents.

In the long run, I love them.  They've helped me.

But sometimes, they're real assholes.