Damn, I Hate You

I sat in the corner on the rooftop huddled as I was for hours. I started humming to myself, then singing to myself songs that didn't exist; creating more and more poems. I finally found myself able to rhyme again instead of sing songs of incoherent babbling as drunkards tend to sing. It's nice to remember I'm sane.

Pages of my notebook were fluttering in the wind, which had increased with the night and altitude of the building. I didn't care, though. Rip the pages, rip the past; it can't help me now. It can only pull me back.

My eyes were heavy and the lids were closing once in awhile, but I forced myself to stay awake and stay on the roof. It was almost an impulse. I had this weird feeling that if I were to get down, I would plunge down into my disillusioned reality, get depressed, not rat out my dad, and keep my life as it is. I thought if I went down I would go back to hell. It was like the world was hell, the ladder led to heaven, and yet it stopped here, at a grey-zone in the middle. I wasn't quite in Heaven, not quite in Hell. I was in pergatory, in a sense. I was in Nirvana. This was peace.

Soon I began singing songs that were real. They went from angsty metal songs, to love songs, to break up songs, to death songs, back to love songs, and in a random cycle. Like, it wasn't a life cycle, it was a chaotic cycle. It was like the world with it's constant change.

Sometimes I feel stupid. I make all these analogies and yet they don't even make sense half the time. I make all these realizations only for them to be ridiculed by everyone else and be looked at like a crazy. Or worse- to be seen as a monster. I don't think I'm a monster. All blood on my hands is wiped clean from time and I've grown from a violent misunderstood kid into a calm angry adolescent who uses his words. I don't understand why people must see me as a monster. I'm a good person.

But apparently that's hard to see. I'm just glad three important people can: my girl friend, my potential future foster dad, and my assistant principal. There's always a plus side. God, I hate that phrase. There isn't always a positive. There's either a good path and a bad path, and once in a while, a middle lane that you get stuck in in which you get to choose.

Then you have drivers like me, who can be headed down the right path but suddenly can't get thier feet off the break. I have meer hours until I finally continue moving and either press hard on the gas or hit reverse and go back to my dad.

I wracked my brain trying to block all memories of dad perhaps having a heart. There was the time in sixth grade when he told me "Good job" because I had actually passed to junior high. Then again, he followed up with beating the crap out of me for having to take summer school. "You're a fuckin sixth grader! What kinda help with math could you need?"

Yeah, ADHD unattended to isn't one of those things you can easily get over. Well, by the sixth grade it should've been. I should've had better control of myself. Man, I don't even know anymore how to think. I don't want to vicitimize myself and make me look like a pussy, but I also don't want to make myself look like I could have made my life so much better when it is his fault.

But that's how we know I'm on the right path. I can acknowledge it's his fault; not mine.

I sat until probably two in the morning. It was two thirty by the time I got home. I walked extra slow, wanting to spend as little time as I could reminiscing of sleepless nights spent in my room. But it was my last night, at last. So I sat there, doing as I'd always done and trying to fight insomnia (losing, of course). It was impossible to win. My head was aching, my muscles were suddenly sore, I couldn't find a comfortable position and yet I could hardly move. It was normal, and I was starting to be glad to leave the normalcy.

Around six thirty, I started showering and getting ready for school. Dad was having a great deep sleep, so I felt free to do all the loud things I wanted, though I couldn't force myself to be very loud.

I walked to school slowly at seven. I really had no business going to school so early. I arrived at seven fifteen with nothing to do but listen to music. I had left all my luggage at my house and was hoping to just grab it after school or when the cops took me in to talk about it or whatever was going to happen. I really had no idea. My heart raced faster and faster as I thought about it. It was thumping louder than the hip hop in my mp3 player and no matter how loud I made it, the pulse was still over powering the music and driving me insane.

There was a tap on my shoulder. Polite and small, as if on accident. "Deryk." It was Ms. Rodriguez. "You don't have to go to In-House detention today. I talked to your teacher and you really had no business there in the first place. She told me that she kinda overreacted anyways, so consider your mouth a winner this time. Please stay outta trouble for the future, though. I don't wanna see one of my smartest students in my office so often!" she said and gave me a smile.

"I'll try, but when the ignorance is being spread and corrupting our youth's minds, someone has to play devil's advocate and make them think." I replied, a sly smirk crossing my face.

"Oh stop trying to charm me with your smarts and smiles, young man." she said and ruffled my hair. She's so understanding. Maybe I should just tell her right now. Nah, better tell Mr. B in- WAIT!

"Uh, you think I could go to In-House anyways? I have a presentation I wanna miss-"

"Deryk Silva, one of my greatest students, hiding from a problem? I thought you were better than that!" she joked.

"I just wanted to talk to Mr. B and not deal with my teachers for awhile." I lied.

"Hmmm... Well, you could serve before lunch, but I heard that your English project was due on Friday, and I wanted you to present it ASAP. Tell me if she gives you a bad grade, because as teachers get older, they do grow biased and subjective and I don't want your grade to suffer because of it." Ms. Rodriguez looked seriously into my eyes.

"Ok, ok. I'll just go to my classes, I guess. And yeah, I'll tell you." I agreed and smiled.

"Alrighty. See you later. By the way, school doesn't start for another half hour. Go get a soda somewhere or something." she said and started shooing me away.

"Haha. Suddenly you don't want your best student on the premesis?" I joked.

"Hey, I never said you were THE best. Don't get cocky." she laughed. I love her. I love so many people. It's easy to love, though, when you know just how much it means to not have any.

I was wrong all these years. There is love for me. Plenty of teachers probably loved me throughout junior high and freshmen year. I always let the hateful ones get to me, though. I assumed all teachers were my enemies and just wanted teenage friends. I guess that has always been my major flaw.

I grabbed my backpack and took her advice. I needed to leave and clear my head a bit anyways. I had no business at school so early! It could ruin my supposed reputation of a school hater!