"I'm so frustrated." She said. She wasn't yelling exactly, but I knew she was mad.
This wasn't unusual. She got like this a lot. Ever since dad left, she's been like this. I don't even remember clearly when she wasn't mad.
When her and dad were still together.
"It's not all about you." She said. I usually don't speak during this. I don't trust myself enough to make my voice steady.
I wanted to say that I knew that. I knew that it isn't all about me.
It never is.
Doesn't she realize that it's always about everyone else? It hurts me when she's like this. I don't want her to be sad anymore. And I feel like it's my fault. I don't want her to be mad. I only want her to be happy.
Does she not realize that when she yells, it's slowly killing me? I don't want to wake up anymore. But I do. So no one will worry. I don't want people to worry. I don't want anyone to be hurt.
I hurt so bad sometimes. How come no one notices I'm hurt? Am I that good an actor? I can feel my mask crumbling away. I can feel myself slipping. But, know one else does.
But thats's a good thing. Because no one will be hurt.
She's crying, now.
"Sometimes, there's nothing to be happy about." My mom says.
She says that as if I don't know that. I know how hard life can be. She isn't helping when she yells. I know that she's not really mad about me, but abput everything else. And she takes it out on me, because I'm the only one home now.
I don't think she realizes that this hurts. I think she thinks that I'm just there to listen, and I let her think that. What she doesn't know, won't hurt her. She doesn't need to know that my silences are cries. Begging to be heard. But, they aren't heard. I'm not.
But whatever makes it easier on everyone else, right? I'll suffer in silence because no one else needs to know.
I hate when she cries. It hurts so bad to see her like that. But she pushes me away when I try to help.
I gave up a while ago.
I gave up everything a long time ago.
Everything that made me happy, I left behind so I could pick up the pieces of my broken home so I could try to get everything to fit together again, but I'm missing a piece, so everything falls apart again. More shattered than ever before.
Why do I try? I shouldn't. But I do anyway, and I'll keep doing it until it rips me apart.
Piece by piece.
Diclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom.