Tears and Fake Smiles

Today I almost had an emotional breakdown. I'm not sure what caused it, whether the book I am reading currently in my English class, Speak, has had a massive effect on me and is actually making me depressed as I read it, or I've come to the sudden realization that me and my father aren't all that close as I once thought.

I walked into my bedroom after school today, and found my dad using my computer like he usually does, playing Age of Empires or whatever war game he has going right now. I told him about how Speak is making me feel depressed, and he was saying it was just that the book was really good and it brought the reader into it. I continued to tell him that I couldn't wait until the poetry unit, because I happen to be a self-proclaimed poet. He told me "I know why. I'm sorry if it feels like I've intruded into your private matters, but I see the stuff you write because you leave it on your desk. It's good. Dark, but dark is creative. Just think of Edgar Allan Poe, he was dark and intensely creative."
No, I wasn't mad that he read it. More surprised that he hasn't confronted me about having depression or something of the like. (Maybe I do have depression?) But it really hit me that he knows more than I think he does. Does he know some of my inner most thoughts? Does he know I think he ignores me for my other siblings? Does he know I'm still upset that he had to cancel our ice skating plans when I was 11?

That couldn't possibly be it, of course. If he knew what I was thinking, and knew that I miss him even though he is standing right in front of me, he would do something about it. He wouldn't be doing this on purpose. He's not that kind of person.

Of course not.

But he knows at least a little bit of what's going on, from what I leave on my desk. I leave notes on my desk. Poetry, story ideas that aren't so pleasant. I happen to be a dark person on the inside compared to my bubbly exterior.

I guess not all people are what they appear to be.