Blink.

Blink.

Blink.

I sit alone in my room, like usual. It is 4:56. Blink.

I am alone a lot now. Even my parents seem afraid of me, afraid what I will do if they push me too far. Blink. But the question isn’t what I will do, it’s how far is too far. Blink. Even I don’t know anymore. I often wonder what happened to me. Why am I like this? I wasn’t always. I used to be popular. I used to have friends. Blink.

There's not much you can do by yourself. I should know. Most of my time is spent alone. I’ve taken to counting the number of blinks in a minute. Blink. Twenty-three. It’s a nervous habit, I suppose. I looked it up. That’s too many blinks. I must look odd. I guess that’s why people avoid me. Once, I tried to limit myself to seventeen blinks per minute, but I couldn’t do it. Blink. My parents gave me strange looks all day. Even they think I’m different. I suppose they’re right. I am. Blink. After all, who wants a daughter who is so lonely she counts blinks? Who has no friends? Blink. My parents must be terribly disappointed in me. I’m not normal, while they are the most normal you can possibly be. Blink. My poor parents are stuck with me. I wonder what it’s like to be my parents. I don’t think it’s that difficult. I don’t get in trouble, I listen and obey, they hardly notice I’m there. Blink. I wonder what it’s like to have a semi-depressed daughter. I guess I’ll never know.