And I just think, why?

Yeah, okay, sometimes my mum dresses well, and my dad's funny, and they have money, and they love me, and they accept that I'm not straight and are cool about it.

And I guess they're right, in a way.

But the other side of it is the immense pressure. Don't drop any classes. Don't be a nerd. Don't wear a chain on your jeans. Don't watch cartoons - they're for children. My dad did nine classes, so I should be able to handle six. My mum can't see out of one eye properly, so I should be able to draw even with the RSI in my right hand.

It's stupid things like art class. Yeah, I can draw some Adventure Time characters and Sherlock, but in school's system, I don't get to do that. I get to paint. You know who can't paint?

Me.

My parents overestimate my abilities for... well... everything. They keep asking me, "Who's better at art than you in your art/English/graphics class?" and don't ever take my word for it when I say, "Nearly everyone!" but it's true. The students there can do some amazing paintings, like photos, or seriously beautiful speeches, or  AWE-STRIKING rendering, and then there's me. We're years past the stage of learning "how", and now we're putting it all into practice. To get this far, you have to be good, and they don't get that.

It's simple.

I'm going to fail if I go another year.

My parents say that, if I drop out, I'm done. I'll be stacking supermarket shelves or stuck working at McDonald's for the rest of my life, grow old and poor, and will never be happy.

Even if that's true--even if they're totally right--it's MY LIFE to fuck up.

I barely survived the last year. I had panic attacks, pills, depression, a deep self-loathing, and scraped by with just above the minimum credits. School isn't for everybody, and it certainly isn't for me.

I don't want them to support me forever, or give me money, or let me live with them until they die.

I just want them to respect my life choices.