Basically, How Can I Believe You When You Lie to Me?

Open my eyes to movement. The white fuzzy blur steps all over, looking with wide blue eyes, anxious, questioning, hungry. I open my eyes to the silence, and the crinkling of papers, as she tries and fails to step around them with her nervous paws. Food bowl is empty.
I look to my clock, 4:50 AM, and I hear a click, and my finger touches the button just as it begins. The main theme to Final Fantasy 7 plays, and I turn it off and it fades to silence. Wearing all my clothes. I slip out of bed, my eyes rest on the empty bowl, and then the folded paper on the floor. "How can I believe you when you lie to me?" I swing sideways and touch my feet to the floor, slowly standing up and picking up the nearly empty cup of cat food, pouring the remains into Snuffles' bowl. She hops down, munching on what I give her, but glancing back as I walk through the doorway, slowly, walking towards the kitchen. I stop mid-stride to look in the round, wood-framed mirror. Look to myself, untouched by nervous fingers, unadjusted, half asleep. My hair stands up at odd angles, poof. My face is.. just.. is. Tired, plain, bloodless. For once. Nervous fingers haven't reached it.

I walk past the dark living room, into the kitchen, flicking on the light-switch. Lights flicker on, bright, and my eyes adjust. Strong need for chocolate milk, I'm thirsty, and a small need for chocolate buzzes in my head. Fill up a mug with milk, stir in chocolate. Drink it down, fill it up again. Rub my eyes. Fill up the little cup of cat food, walk back to my room, pour the rest in her bowl.

'How can I believe you?' Brings back memories. Memories of when I questioned everything, when it hurt everyone else. Tears into my pillow, hiding my face and locking my door. 'Please let me in'

I won't. I won't let you in, stay away, leave me alone. I won't listen to a word you say. I won't forgive you, no no no. I can't forgive you. Sob into pillow, hold to Dobby close and ignore everything else. I can't do it, I can't go on. I can't live like this, and I can't. Can't can't can't can't. Can't face it all. Can't.

Why had I been crying? Hurt for what was undeserved, stress, fear, loneliness. Memory. Regret. It's all my fault. I cried easy, back then.
---

I scrawl words on the paper, remembering. Calmly. I write more than I should, and I know she won't understand. Note on my bed, scrawled in sharpie. I reply to words. "How can I believe you?"


Please understand the different level of sin between lying about my life, lying about who I talk to, lying about when I'm coming home, lying about not doing drugs, and letting time slip away, breaking a curfew because I wish to talk to someone who makes me happy. Understand, I could be a lot worse. And understand, you have small reason for the curfew, besides for my "well being" which you know nothing about. And don't forget all the promises I actually keep. Three hours online? Or maybe I am low enough to even break that. Distrust me if you wish, yell at me, hate me, but leave me alone. We live in a world where all people care about is status, how well we do, how much money we make. We're yelled at to do "better", we must go go go and rush and not be late. We must give up our entire fucking lives for things that don't mean anything, at all. We are not free. Ask Renan. My 21 year old gay friend. You can't imagine how hard it is to go on, everyday like this. My mind screaming regrets, my body and head not following through. I have to get A's, A's A's A's. And do these marks really mean anything? You brush it off. And what do they mean? They mean I have done everything I could, no matter how stressful, no matter how useless. For WHAT? Nothing. I have to fit into every fucking standard, every mark for "success". What is success? I can't ask questions, I can't get more information, I can't learn how to write! And this makes me miserable. I'm wasting my life. Everyday is a strangling reminder, and all I want to do is be happy. Oh glorious America, with all her censorship and "freedom".

If I had a choice, I'd get a job. I'd quit school. I'd talk to authors, go to summer classes, learn how to form my words into stories. I'd help people. Why can't I?

So understand, I hate everything and everyone, and I'm miserable. I'm a hopeless romantic, clinging to any happiness and inspiration I get. I try....

I'm sorry I can't be perfect. I'd rather be happy.
[I don't know why the fuck I just said all that]
----


Of course she didn't understand. Phase phase, simply a phase. Teens go through phases. They get sad and they say gibberish that means next to nothing. It's nothing to worry about, no no. My mouth draws into a straight line, and I shake my head. She won't understand. Oh well.

"Can't you see..." Winifred said, motioning to the scene around her. "Life has so many possibilities, yet I am stuck with one. One that every other person goes though, and I'm stuck learning and doing everything except what i want to!"
"Well, that's life for you" replied Dilworth, blankly staring, not understanding her concern
"How can you stand for that!? 'that's life' But it doesn't have to be! We could change that, yet no one ever does!"

"I am one who cannot accept life being as it is, my face being what it is, because it must be so"
Maybe if I explain it that way, she can grasp it. But she won't listen.