Some say that crying is a sign of weakness. For me, it kills time.
             School is no longer a time to learn, but an endurance test. How long will I stay sane?
             I conceal myself, inside a shell of camouflage. The same baggy jeans and crinkled shirt as everyone else. Trying not to stand out, trying to fit in.
             I smile, I joke, I laugh, but inside I feel empty. The joy I once had has been painted black. My father is no longer here in my mind. In his eyes I am a failure, a rope dragging down the family name. My exam results last term proving just how useless I am.
             My brothers laughed as my mother sighed and turned to her room. The stare from my father's cold blue eyes said it all: you do not belong, you are not mine. It proved the point that I was only my mother's child and marriage could not justify a failure as a stepson.
             My real father died when I was young, a tattered photo the only memory I have left. Being raised by my mother only re-confirmed my 'sissy boy' image my 'jock' bothers had invented.
             Fortunately, a private school was not to be wasted on me and I was sent to a government school where I could get peace, away from home. It was holidays I would dread and soon enough school, as the depression flooded through all areas of my life.
             I had no purpose I was told. I believed it too. I had nothing to look forward too. I hated school and I hated home. With no close friends to hang out with I found it easier to dawdle around, no thoughts in my mind. Just the fresh autumn breeze hitting my face.
             We had a large property so I had the space I needed to 'get away' from my parents.
             That opportunity to retreat from the criticism and conflict remained until my parents decided to move closer to their graduating sons' schools. It was here, in the city that I was restricted to the solitude of my bedroom, with no where to go; no where to escape; no where for privacy.
             I survived through the year...