Defective

I'm beginning to wonder why I do things the way I do. I do things the way I have always done them which spawned out of the things expected of me rather than the way I want to. Growing up, I was always pushing myself to live up to my parent's expectations that seemed to grow as the knowledge of my abilities became more apparent.
Go to bed early, get up early, get your things done before seven, down time till bed, sleep get up and do it all over again. Some days, most days, I feel like a zombie. So I find myself asking why I continue. Why do I keep going when I've come to realize how much I absolutely hate it; how much I've absolutely hated it all my life without even knowing it. And I ask why it cant be different. I don't have answers to these questions. I believe it could be different, in a way. If I started doing the things I want to as opposed to the things that are expected. But what happens then is the realization of my parents that things have changed and they blame it on anything new going on. They take those things away not knowing that that doesn't help anything out side of pushing my ever faltering mental stability even closer to completely burning out.
I blame a lot of my inability to communicate like a normal human being with other people on my parents and the simple fact that because of their over protectiveness I have had little human contact. I cant count on one hand how many parties I went to. Parties, of course, being birthday parties for all my little girl friends. Home is a prison. A solitary confinement unit that I don't get to leave because they are too scared I'll end up like my sister. But they don't know that this only makes what my sister did seem that much more rewarding.
Leaving all of this behind... it's almost like a dream. But there's that little part of me that says that they are still my parents. They're doing what they believe is right for me. But that little bit gets over run with all the bad days, bad years I've spent alone here in my room. I make up friends to keep me company for God's sake.
And people wonder why I'm so screwed up. Perhaps it's not mental defect at all. Perhaps it's just the years of solitude and the unhealthy habits that came out of sheer loneliness. I've become my own psychiatrist, psychologist, physician, friend, enemy, and everything else anyone would ever need. I'm not surprised that I may have schizophrenia. I'm not surprised that I have unhealthy relationships. I can understand why I'm the way I am. All of the things I hate about myself have come from them and their fears that keep me locked up like a fucking animal.
And my biggest fear is that it will never change. But there is a way. A way that would crush every one of my family members. But a way that I've already decided on if things refuse to change. Eighteen is just over a year and a half away.

erro.