I hold myself highly around my school, because that’s how I was raised. If you want to be the best, you have to act the best. I don’t think my parents intended me to have that attitude. I think that it’s just how I brought myself up. My parents were busy with my little sister, so I just… raised myself.

My parents tell me that something’s wrong with me, that this isn’t how they raised me, that this isn’t how I’m supposed to act, or feel, or exist.  I know too much, they say. I know too much of the world, they say. Far too much for a little girl, they say. I know why I need to stay inside when it’s dark, and I know why I can’t go to a movie without an adult, and I know why I should never talk to strangers. I know what it’s like to feel too cold, and there’s no one there to keep you warm. I know what it’s like to get so angry that a vein pops on your face, and your breathing becomes unsteady, and you suddenly see everything in black and white.

I don’t know why I don’t like to talk on telephones. Maybe I should try to like it.

You know…

When I get my own house…

I probably won’t have a telephone.