TW: mention of suicide, divorce

If I were to list the things I dislike about myself, it would be extremely short.

Just a single word.

Everything. 

I don't say that out loud, though, because people would want to help. Except their idea of 'help' is having me dump my emotions onto them and ask for advice. 

As if it's that easy.

The endless talks about how it's perfectly normal

for a teenager to feel so many things. That I'll 

start having painfully specific feelings towards my

peers. I've never had those feelings before, why 

would I start now?

And yet, nobody listens no matter how many times I've tried to say it.

I move to the desk that sits in the corner of my bedroom. My seven-year-old instant camera is propped up against my dusty math book. Gently, I grasped the only slightly banged-up pale green device. It was a gift for my ninth birthday. My dad had bought it with the money he'd been saving up for years at that point. 

Part of me wishes I'd had the chance to thank him.

Unfortunately, my parents got a divorce only two months before the event. My mom had been with many others after that, eventually settling with a woman she'd met at my school performance. I smoothed my fingers over the camera and looked through the lens. Surprisingly, it was still clean and unscratched. I focused it on the night sky outside my window. I pressed the button and smiled when the film slid from the camera's thin mouth. I carefully set the photo on my desk and flopped onto my bed to wait for it to develop. I squeezed my eyes shut and thought of my dad. Less than a month after the divorce, he'd driven his car right off the cliff that looked over the Pacific. 

A tear rolled down my cheek and I quickly wiped it away with my hoodie sleeve. Taking a deep, shuddery breath, I padded over to the desk once again and picked up the photo. It was a bit blurry, and the stars looked streaky, but otherwise, it wasn't bad. I glanced at the clock on the wall and my eyes widened. Two forty-seven AM. 

I needed to get to sleep.