Warnings: This fic is extremely angsty, depressing, has character homosexuality, suicidal tendencies, bashing of a character and you may or may not pick up on who it is, and the author basically raging against the world.

"I wish could tie you up in my shoes
Make you feel unpretty too
I was told I was beautiful
But what does that mean to you
Look into the mirror who's inside there
The one with the long hair
Same old me again today, yeah
Unpretty, TLC

In my life, I've never really considered suicide. It's just not the way I think. But now- I don't know. Something inside me just broke and I want to cry, or destroy things, or...destroy myself. My parents would never think of me as the suicidal sort. They left me alone to go to some ballooning event outside of town. I could be long dead my the time I get back.
I've broken all of a sudden and I don't think I can put myself back together.
It's hard enough growing up gay in a relatively small, fairly conservative town. (Although I guess it could be worse...I could be growing up in a very small, extremely conservative town...)
But it's even worse growing up a "universal genius".
OK, so maybe what made me break was my parents. No, it's not good enough that I'm a genius, good at sports, good at art, have perfect grades...No. My whole life has to be controlled by them.
Nag, nag, nag...fill out the application to this college, take this course, do this, do that...whose life is it, anyway?
God, I want to cry, but I can't...
And I have to do perfectly, too. Not once do they think that I might be more than what they see. My whole life isn't what they want it to be.
It wasn't like I chose to be gay, either, just to spite them or anything. You'd have to be insane to choose that path- never be able to marry, or have kids...not allowed to adopt them...why would I choose that lifestyle?
I need to cry, but I can't. I grab a CD and put on the music I need to hear right now...the music that makes me feel like...maybe there is a God, and He actually loves me...doesn't care that I'm gay, or that I'm in love with another guy...one who won't judge me by anything other than the kindness I show others.

< take my hand and lead me to salvation >

Why...?

< take my love for love is everlasting >

Tears begin to fall...relief, bittersweet.

< and remember the truth that once was spoken >

I need to get out of here...

< to love another person is to see the face of god >

I look at the essay I'm writing for a college application. "I have many talents and enjoy many different things, including reading, writing, academics, sports, and art..."
I start crying again. None of it matters, not to me. Just more pressure put on me. I shut down my computer, then gaze at the screen for a moment. That's me, reflected in the screen. Slightly long hair, reportedly "pretty" looks...
Pretty, not handsome. I guess I live up to my stereotype. One more thing I don't want that I'm supposed to be grateful for.

< do you hear the people sing lost in the valley of the night
it is a music of a people who are climbing to the light
for the wretched of the earth there is a flame that never dies
even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise>

When I'm angry or upset, I take it out physically. As you might imagine, I'm upset and angry a lot. Which is why I was down at the empty lot, kicking my soccer ball against the wall. Thump...thump...thump... the ball creates a steady staccato on the wall.
Even you...I thought I loved you, how could you do this to me?
It was you who taught me this way of relieving my anguish.
But you never understood me, did you?
What it felt like to be ugly?
How I felt uneeded.
What it means to have this enourmous pressure on you to suceed?

Now I'm in the pool, swimming, hands cutting through the water, doing suicide sets on the clock. Make them faster, get more rest. A minute and twenty seconds to do a hundred meters, four laps, eight lengths. A set of ten of these, and I hope I'll be so worn out, I won't be able to thing of anything.
You never knew what it did to me when you left, did you?
You didn't care.
You just went on with your life.
Mine is the sort that should never have a relationship, because the moment it fails, we give up.
Yours is the sort that should never have a relationship.
You don't need one.
You don't care about anyone else because you're perfectly happy with yourself.
You don't understand kindness, do you?
You only understand your own hopes and dreams.
Do you understand how mine can be crushed by the world we live in?
I thought not.

Was that five or six sets? I wonder, then realize I've lost all count. I'll just keep going until I miss one, then.
Seven sets...
Or was it eight?
Who are you to tell me that we wouldn't have worked out?
You didn't even try.
Admit it, you're self-absorbed. You don't see what's around you.
Everyone thinks it's that friend of yours who is so self-absorbed, but I've watched him.

Nine sets, or maybe ten. Just a couple more, then I'll stop.

The pain behind his laughs, the not-quite-wide enough smile.
Did you break his heart, too?
Because he loves you, you know.
You never could see.

I stop and get out of the water, my black hair dripping as I wring it out and go to shower and dress. I do feel better now. I still don't understand why I'm here, but I've stopped caring, at least for now.
Maybe I'll keep living another day.

A/N: I left this open to interpretation, but if anyone wants to know who Ken is raging against, write me privately, and I'll let you know.
Yes, this is semi-autobiographical, especially up to the point where Ken leaves to the empty lot- up to there, it is completely based on my life.
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