I Can't Do It

I'm not perfect.
I can't do it.
Why does it have to be this way?
My grades are all A's in weighted classes, I have a damn 4.7. Do you know how many kids would kill to come just close to that? Do you know how many juniors and seniors will never reach that? Do you know how hard it is to at least have a 4.0?
I get that low grade on a project, one project, one in the whole damn year, and it isn't even that low, and yet...all hell has to break lose. You make it sound like I don't care and that I'm not trying. Well, damn it, if I wasn't trying how the hell do you expect me to get a 4.7?
You, you're such a liar. You say things and you never mean them. You take my words and you twist them, you really do. You know deep in your heart, that some of the things I say make sense. I AM RESPONSIBLE AND I COULD TAKE CARE OF MYSELF IF I WAS GIVEN THE CHANCE. I WOULD BE ABLE TO GO OUT WITH FRIENDS AND NOT HAVE ANYTHING BAD HAPPEN TO ME.
It's not fair. You were a bad kid and you expect me to turn out like that, so you put me on a leash, thrust me into a cage, and let the world taunt me. If you set me free, I wouldn't be stupid.
I wouldn't run to some liquor store and buy cigarettes to smoke out my lungs and then steal beer to get drunk on so I can get wasted and have sex at some stranger's house. I'm a good kid, what else do I have to do to prove that?

Why can't you get it out of your head that I will never be perfect. NEVER NEVER NEVER NEVER NEVER NEVER NEVER
I'm human and God made me that way.

But I don't want to talk about it anymore. Because whenever I say that, you refute it. You say you don't want me to be perfect, to just do my best. But that's a lie. Because whenever I screw up, you're so judgmental about it and you condemn me. I'm a failure in your eyes, I know it. My achievements are nothing but ways for you to boast. Just for you to brag about to others. But when it's just us, I know it, you wish I was better.
Well, how much better do you want me to be?
I'll thrust myself into IB and show you what I can really do. I'll show you and then you'll stop talking. Then you can finally see for yourself just how much effort I put into making you satisfied. I don't even care about my health anymore. If I fall one day and am too weak to get up, I'll make someone pull me up and drag me to what I need to do. I won't rest until I get all my work done. Let the bags under my eyes grow and let the headache build-up, because I don't want to hear you condemn me anymore.
I don't want anyone to tell me that what I've done is not good enough. I don't want to hear that anymore.
So, I'm going to work myself to the bone to at least keep you quiet. It won't please you, because you're never satisfied, but I can at least keep you quiet. That's all I want know , to just placate you because I know satisfaction is unattainable.

And the way that you talk to me, you're so mean.
The point may be 'nice', but the way you say it, you hate me. I can just feel it, like daggers slicing away my pride. You hate me. And it hurts. And I don't want to be here.