Real Laughter

It's been almost 3 months since it happened

2 since I found out.

1.5 since I agreed to come back home.

5 weeks since I apologized.

A month since I locked myself away.

12 hours since I came back out

11.5 since their "intervention"

8 since they finally shut up.

5 since Susan kept. Sobbing.

5 hours since I may have freaked out

4.5 hours since they found my way out

12 hours since I regretted leaving my room.

Susan said I should write this, that it would help.

Susan.

Disgusting name.

Disgusting person to go with it.

But of course Father had to agree with it. Everyone agreed with Susan.

But this isn't about Susan. This is about me.

Of course it is.

I'm rude.

I "don't play well with others."

I'm craz-psyc-crazy

I'm not.

I swear I'm not.

I mean, I'd have good reason to be, but I'm not. I never have been.

I swear.

But whatever explanation helps them sleep...

Whatever.

I haven't always been like this, I promise. I was a happy kid, probably one of the happiest. I was always laughing, like normal people.

I haven't laughed in ages.

Not a real laugh.

Not a good, r e a l laugh.

Not an ohmygodIhaventbreathedinawholeminutebutitsok laugh.

I really don't miss them.

I've had exhalethroughmynose laughs,

or

the bad laughs

More of the latter.

But those don't help my case.

I now blame you for what I've become, because it's your fault.

I wish I could just blame it on Susan like everything else, but it's not her.

I'm going to stop writing this now, but I assume you're going to be watching. You're always watching.

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Author's Note:

I think I know where I'm going with this, but I don't think I'm accomplishing this prologue very well. This was in the form of a journal entry, but the rest will be first person narrative.