Many days I am left with my own vivid and sadistic imagination while banished to by bedroom like I had the scarlet letter on my chest. I lay on my bed with my phone, texting the man I love or playing games on my iPad while imagining myself living like I want to. Free of scrutiny.  

It is hard being an only child at home. No one to talk to or play with other than parents…  
 
It wasn’t always like this. I loved being with my family when I was younger, my spirit untamed. But as time passed and I got older, I wished to handle my own life and be an independent girl. But some things that I would adopt into my life didn’t fit with being social, such as listening to music and wanting to be in my friend’s company. 

As a result, I grew isolated, watching the world go around from behind my bedroom window. My room became my only true sanctuary, where I could ponder my life alone, without the fear of prying eyes. 
Occasionally, I do take some time to bond with my parents. We go out to dinner, we go shopping for clothes and presents, and we play our games together. But beneath my happy exterior, there is darkness that runs deep every second of the days. Yet even as I hide it, I really don’t have to. They know what I am feeling deep down. 

Time to bond helps fight the creeping silence that afflicts our home. Our four fuzzy monsters (otherwise known as cats) also help by providing loves, cuddles, and cat hair all over our clothes and furniture. 
My father “amuses” me with cringeworthy dad jokes while my mother does everything in her power to help me feel better. Such as talking to me to help me understand the ins and outs of life. She also reassures me that she and my father will always be there to help me, even far into the future. 
 
This creeping loneliness that grips tight at my soul has been happening since I entered my high school years. My desire for my own ways and life led to the scarlet letter being branded on my chest. I know that there are people that I can go to, but my antisocial ways prevent me from doing so…