I am lost in my own head, in my own words. I’ve been tangled up in the long thoughts that I have that intersect each other. They’re all saying different things and yet they’re all related. My thoughts are saying that I’m about to cry because my father showed his disappointment in me, said I acted like a three year old sometimes when I’m so much older. I’m so much more mature than a girl my age, most are wound up in boys, lip-gloss, clothes. Me…I understand what it’s like to be pushed to my limits and then beyond.

I begin to cry, pushing my hair back with my fingers as I wrap my hands around my closed eyelids, feeling the wetness of my tears against my skin. My mouth contorts, trying to muffle the sound of my crying. If my father heard, he’d think I’m weak.

I can’t win either way.

If I make him proud, if I show him that I love him despite everything, he simply ignores me. But if I do wrong, the whole world comes crashing down on me and I spend most of the day crying like the “weakling” I am.

I’m sure he has his reasons, everyone does. I have reasons to do everything I do, some are weak, some are strong, but nonetheless they are reasons.

Eventually, I stop crying and then curse myself for crying so much. Whenever I cry I get a cold.

I’ve had millions of colds.

I begin to clean myself up, because if my father walks into this room and sees me with red eyes and puffy bags, he’ll say I’m weak and that I should become stronger. The key to becoming stronger is to build up a wall, like my own father has done. There are bricks and bricks of protection around his heart, and he urges me to do the same. I can see it. Whenever he looks at me, it is not a look of pride but one of an emotion that is close to hate but not hate. I begin to look at my reflection. There is nothing special, there are features but there is nothing beautiful about them. That is how my father thinks I am completely: personality wise and academic studies included.

When you live with a man who always encourages that you win, it’s weird how the only thing I want, my father’s pride, will never be won.