Emily Rae Robles

the paradoxymoron

Just Once

I killed my dad and cousin.  I know you don’t wanna hear it; we’re supposed to talk about messed up relationships or being depressed or whatever, but I might as well say it.  I cut them both with my knife and no one ever caught me.  They didn’t have proof or anything.  I wouldn’t even know I did it if I didn’t have it stuck in my mind.  One minute we were joking around in the kitchen, and then I got pissed off at something my cousin said, and then they were dead.  Both of them.  I’m not sad, but I don’t really believe it actually happened.

They took away the knife when I came here.  It wasn’t even my knife.  I stole it off one of my homies.  We are’t homies any more, but we were once.  I thought he had my back, but he broke into my house and took my iPod.  I spent good money on that iPod.  So I took his knife.  None of this probably would have happened if I hadn’t taken his knife.  But I don’t really care.  That makes me sound like some sort of criminal, but I guess that’s what I am.  I know you guys aren’t judging me or anything, but you know you’re all different from me.  You didn’t kill your family.

My cousin was a good kid.  I think he was still in high school.  No one else in our family finished up with school.  It was the first time for me to be seeing him since I got put in juvi.  Six years is a long time for a kid.  Last I saw him, we were both eleven.  I’m nineteen now, but he isn’t anything, cause he’s dead.  His parents were on the streets dealing drugs, so he came to live with me and my dad after my dad and stepmom split up.  He seemed like a cool kid, even when he studied.  I never met anyone who read books like he did.  He knew things that weren’t worth anything, like how to measure things and who runs the country and how they do it and stuff.  I never got past eighth grade cause I joined a gang and didn’t care much about school anymore.  They laughed in my face at first cause I was only twelve, but I was so good with the knife that they changed their minds.  Then the cops caught me taking some stuff from a store.  It wouldn’t have been a big deal, but I got mad and cut someone.  So they put me in juvi.  Then I got out, and all of a sudden my dad and cousin were dead.

I don’t know why they didn’t catch me.  They say they don’t have any proof, no idea of who did it.  I’m glad, I guess, but I’m confused why they don’t think I did it.  Maybe I didn’t do it.  Maybe it’s all in my head.  I’m not even sure anymore, except that I have it stuck in my mind.  If I didn’t do it, that means I’m crazy.  I’m not sure if I’d rather be me right now, thinking that I did it, or me not having done it, but thinking in my head that I did.  Right now it’s both.  I don’t like it being both.  It messes up my feelings.

I didn’t use to have feelings.  I could do anything or say anything and nothing would happen.  It was cool.  I didn’t have to worry about anything like depression or anxiety or all those fancy doctor words.  That’s all different now, and I hate it.  I have to take like twenty pills every night and more in the morning.  The psycho-doctor guy keeps telling me stuff that makes no sense and asks me if I wanna hurt anyone.  Of course I do, I wanna rip his face off.  I hate his guts.  But I know better than to say that to his face.

I hate dealing with the doctor and the medicines and everything, but it’s better than spending all the time thinking about my own problems.  I know I have problems.  I’m not stupid.  I just don’t see the point in getting all wrapped up in what can’t be fixed.  I mean, look at me.  Do I look like I can be fixed any time soon?  I’m me.  I’m always gonna be me.  Now I’m me without a dad or cousin, and maybe it was my fault, but I’m still me.  Even if it was my fault and I’m the worst person in the whole world, I’m still me.  I don’t really care about anything else as long as I’m me.  Sucks for the psycho doctor guy though, cause his job is basically to make me someone else—someone who does what he’s told, someone who doesn’t fool around with knives.  Man I wish I had that knife back.  It’s not like I’m gonna do anything crazy; I just want that knife so I feel like myself again.

I guess I should stop talking so much.  My stepmom always says I talk too much.  So what, I wanna know?   So many lives are so pointless, might as well fill them up with talk.  Why bother living, I wanna know? Life sucks.  I’d be bitter, but I know better because we all end up in the same place.  Some people just get there quicker than others.  My dad and cousin got there quicker.  If I believed in hope, I might hope I didn’t do it.  But I think I did.  Just once.  Once was enough.  Once was all it took.

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February 26, 2011 - Posted by | writings | , ,

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