Since I told them, everybody has been treating me differently. Since I told them, my friends and family has been blocking me out, pretending not to know me. Since I told them, my life has been turned upside down, and there is nothing I can do to turn it over again. Sometimes I wonder that if I had just kept it all to myself, it would be okay. Sometimes I wonder if I was wrong. Maybe it was a big mistake. Every morning I have these thoughts, but at the end of the day, I know that it’s all true. My whole life, I've been playing soccer, at least since I learned how to walk. When I started playing for real, I was the best one on the team. I scored almost every goal, and I’ve had since. At an age of sixteen, I am still the best player, but after I told them, the bench has been my place. If I even get to play, it will be at the side, where I have no chance of scoring. The coach told me it was to help the other players grow, and that we sometimes needed some changes, but I know why I don't get to play. I know why every time I score a goal, the audience just sits there, silent. Everybody used to cheer and scream for me, not anymore. The first person I relived my secret to was my mom. It was a Sunday night. The sun was about to disappear behind the trees and the tall buildings. It was dark, and the only thing lighting my room up, was the small lamp over my bed, and the tiny computer I got from my grandparents last year. The screen was all blurry when I logged into my Facebook page. It cleared up when two tears streamed down my face, and left a little wet spot on my sheets. After a while, I could feel the cold and wet fabric to my skin. I looked down and saw a big stain of water and mascara blended together. Then I heard footsteps. Up the stairs, and further down the hall, until the door slowly opened and a woman entered the room. “Honey” was the word my mother said when she noticed that I was crying. I looked up and told her everythin