Jokes and Fake Smiles

I come home from school and close the door with anger.  I throw my saddlebag across the living room with rage. "FUCK SCHOOL!!" I yell to myself. My dad won't be home for 4 hours, so I have plenty of alone time to think, and get over it.

I got pushed on purpose in the hall, and laughed at, failed a test. Sat alone at lunch so my friends wouldn't worry about me, and got called weird a few times.

"Hey, nice test score." Someone joked at the 40% written in red marker on my paper.

"Thanks. It's 280% in dog years." I joke. Some people laugh along, and like my joke. I have to joke every time something like that happens to me. If someone makes fun of me, I have to joke along. I don't insult them back. It doesn't help, and it just creates enemies. I don't want enemies. Usually having them is inevitable, but I'd like to have as few as possible, and pretend that no one bothers me. Of course, the things they say DO bother me, but I don't want anyone to think I have an ability to be sad. Then they'd want to talk to me about it, and give me advice, and what not. Then they'll be concerned about my well  being, and worry themselves to death.

I don't want my friends to spend their time worrying about me. I'm not worth worrying about. I worry about some of them occasionally, but I'm supposed to be the funny, happy colt all the time, and I'd like  to keep it that way.

They say bottling your feelings up is bad, but doing things like :writing a journal", or keeping track of them or some other technique that therapists tell you to don't work for me. I'm used to keeping them in, then releasing them at home later. It's way easier. And besides, it's not like my friends or anyone important to me have to know my "coping skills". I don't want them to know I get sad in the first place.

I hear a knock on the door as I come back to reality. I inhale heavily to calm down and try to fake a smile as I answer. I zoom my hoof to the door knob, and exhale once more, assuring myself that i look happy. I open it, and see Fluttershy.

"Oh...Fluttershy, what are you doing here?" I ask surprised.

"I tried to find you after school, but your friends said you left earlier than usual. Are you ok?" She asks.

"Uh, yeah. I'm fine.  Why do you ask?" I reply.

"Well, one of them said you sat alone and looked depressed at lunch, and didn't talk to anyone. He was worried, so I was too." She says concerned.

"Oh...Well...Uh.. I'm perfectly fine. No need to worry." I brush off with a happy voice.

"Are you sure?" She asks.

"Yeah. I'm fine." I reply.

Fluttershy looks at my eyes with more concern. "You....you have a black eye." She says. Crap....I forgot that Dad punched me last night. "Kaoss...Please don't say you're fine. I know you're not. I'm not stupid."

I  sigh deeply. It's gonna be hard to keep anything from her. She's too good at knowing how people feel. "Look, Fluttershy, I know you're my friend and all, but no one is supposed to know if I'm sad. I want people to just think I'm happy all the time."

"But.....I want to help." She said, making her voice softer than usual. I almost didn't hear what she said. It took mew a second to make out the sentence.

I sigh again. "Look, please, Fluttershy, just....I don't want help. No one needs to concern themselves with me. I don't talk about my problems. You're a very good friend and all, but I think you should leave." I say, closing the door slowly, watching her face as I do.  Every inch that I closed, it made it harder to look. I finally heard the click of the door. I waited a few seconds and looked out the window to see if she left. She was walking away slowly, and I saw a few tears coming from her eyes.

"Why do I have to fuck things up all the time?" I tell myself.

I exhale heavily again, and walk into my room. I tun on the light to reveal the guitar case, messy floor, and my bed. I sit on my white bed sheets, and see that my mom's picture was still lying there. I sit near it. It almost felt like I was sitting next to my mom again. I pick it up and stare at it, stroking the dusty frame with my hoof, tearing up, and remembering another moment in my early life with her.

I remembered the first time i got bullied. Fourth grade it was. I had been punched continuously, called weak,  and no one did anything as I was being hit. Some ponies watched and cheered....I don't know why violence is so entertaining. It hurt. My nose was bleeding, and I hadn't felt physical pain like that before.

I came home and my mom was scared. I told her what happened, and cried in her arms as she embraced me. I felt my tears soak her deep blue coat. "It will be okay. I'll make sure this is fixed, alright?" I nodded. "Mommy loves, you, Kaoss." I was taken out of school the next day to be home schooled for awhile. I tried again in Fifth grade at another school, and I was alright, with the exception of a few insults here and there. My mom was so kind, and loving. She cared about me. Why did she have to die? I sobbed as I tightly gripped the picture frame.

"I miss you. Mom." I said between my sobs.