My ate made me cry last night.

When we were kids, I've always been the "protector". When there were bullies in school (yeah, there were bullies even in exclusive girls' schools), I was the one who fought with them. Even though I was younger and smaller than most of them, I stood up against them to "defend" my sister (or anyone they were bullying for that matter). I once had a shouting match with a busmate who was four years older because she was pestering my sister. And I was only nine years old.

Then there was a time I got physical... errr... pushed this bratty kid from the top of the stairs because she scratched my sister. It was a mean thing to do yeah, but she deserved it for hurting my ate.

But last night, the tables were turned.

Because last night, I told her. Told her everything.

I told her how I hate my life -- what I do, where I am. I told her how I hate the people around me. I told her about him and how messed up I've become ever since. I told her about how, after all this time, I've only been pretending... and that I'm tired of pretending.

Feeling lost and like a little girl, I sought solace and comfort from my older sister. She just listened quietly then told me: "Something's not right here. You've always been the strong one."

That started me crying. I bawled my eyes out until I felt I couldn't cry anymore (though I found out a few hours later that I can still cry some more).

I have to admit that I felt a bit better after talking to her. I haven't solved anything but somehow, the burden (sort of) eased a little.

Tomorrow, I'm talking to my dad.

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Drive away and try to keep smiling. Get a little rock and roll on the radio and go toward all the life there is with all the courage you can find and all the belief you can muster. Be true, be brave, stand. All the rest is darkness. -Stephen King