Misty Eyes.

Chapter One

Dear Diary - December 21st, 2016,

I am nothing. Nothing is all I ever will be. I'm so tired of this, diary. I'm so tired of feeling like there's no alternative. I'm so tired of feeling like I'm stuck in this world. A world where everything hates me. The wind, the sun, the sidewalks, even my own ceiling fan. There's nothing left for me. 

I don't serve a purpose, diary. 

Everyone around me knows that. My friends, family, teachers, even strangers give me sympathetic looks as I walk by. It's exhausting. It's exhausting knowing that I'm worth nothing. And that everyone around me just accepts the fact I'm a disappointment. 

I want to be so much more. I have the potential, don't you think? Sure, I'm some ugly nine-year-old girl with no talent, but I'm nice. I think so, anyways.

I shouldn't complain. It's fine. It's all fine. It always has been fine. I'm just overreacting. There's nothing to cry about. I need to stop crying. Nobody likes a crybaby. 

It's almost Christmas, and yet I'm sitting in my room, sulking, wishing I had a different life. Maybe things would be better if I were Neveah Monroe. Gosh, even her name is perfect. I'm Erik Woodlock and she's Neveah Monroe. My name means green water and her's means heaven. 

Clearly I was set up to fail. 

My parents knew I had no worth from the moment I escaped the womb. 

How pathetic is that?

Here I go again, complaining. I've got to stop doing that. Nobody likes a crybaby, you know?

Bye, diary. I'll update you tomorrow. We'll see if things get better. I bet my mistake count is 15 today. 

I closed my diary and set it in the drawer in my nightstand. I let out an annoyingly loud sigh and turned over to my side. My hair was still wet from my shower. It would look ridiculous in the morning if I didn't dry it. Oh well, I don't really care. It's not like it would change anything. 

I tossed and turned in bed for a few minutes, but due to the discomfort of a damp scalp, I finally got up and shook my head around until the water had all but escaped. I shook the remaining droplets off with a washrag I found in my laundry bin. I didn't want to wake my parents. They'd just get even madder at me than they already were.

"Hi sweetie, how was school?" my mother asked me as I had arrived home that morning. 

"It was fine."

"Are you okay?" 

"Yes."

"What's wrong, sweetie?" her arms gently wrapped around me and her eyes penetrated deep into my thoughts. I got scared for a moment, worried if she already knew. Maybe I could hide it from her. The less disappointment the better, right?

"I failed my spelling test today." So much for hiding it, Erin. 

"What? But you studied all weekend?"

"I know. It's not my fault. I was ready, but the moment the test started, it all slipped my mind."

"Erin! You can't make excuses like that! Did you lie to me about studying?"

"Of course not, mommy! I would never lie to you!"

She didn't even look at me. She released me from her not-so-warm-anymore embrace and turned back into the kitchen. 

"Why don't you go wash up. Mommy needs a minute, okay?"

"Okay, mommy."

And so that's what I did. I went to the bathroom, took a thirty minute shower, (twenty minutes of which was just me crying on the floor of the tub,) and went to my room. And that's where I'm at now. Mommy came into my room and asked me if I wanted anything to eat, but I told her my tummy didn't feel good. 

I don't think she believed me. 

Mommy thinks I'm a liar now. 

I am a liar.