A/N: I just randomly decided to rewrite and edit part of this fic.....I realized just how short it is, and I also realized that this was the SECOND fic I ever posted on ff.n. It's bound to need some sprucing up, 'tis a bit dusty!

Disclaimer: The character this involves belongs to J.K.Rowling.....and...that's about it!

Second A/N: Okay, first of all, I seriously don't agree with the views I wrote in this fic. I mean....it really doesn't fit the character. But a lot of times, when I write, I take a "Now what if that person really thought this?" and just explore with it. And this is by no means the way I think about myself, either....I know a lot of times people read fics like this and think, "Oh, this author is writing about herself." But...I'm really not. I really AM happy all the time. *grins* I know, I'm a freak, but....I'm in love with life. I'll admit I haven't ALWAYS been this happy, maybe there's where my material comes from...but, I digress. I've never been as unhappy as the girl in this fic, let's just say that! I'll shut up now.


They don't know what it's like.

Oh, sure, everyone thinks I'm happy. I know I certainly appear happy to them. I've heard them describe me as "a ray of sunshine." Such a happy little child, they say. Such a sweet girl. Sometimes, I get so caught up in my own game that I almost begin to believe it myself. But then, I'm alone again, and the pain is back stronger than before.

Sometimes I wonder why I keep everything so bottled up inside of me. Most of the time I admit that I'm not really happy. I admit that no one seems to understand me. It seems like that should be the first step to opening up to someone, to anyone that might listen. Yet, somehow, I can't. Not to my parents, not to my brothers, not even to my very best friends. Of course it's not as though I have many best friends. I have friends, yes, but....none of them know the real me.

No one CAN know the real me. I don't want to disappoint anyone. That's a very big part of my problem. I want everyone to be proud of me, to look up to me. In spite of my distrust of the world, even my distrust of my own family....I want them to look at me and say, "Look at her. Isn't she wonderful?"

I've almost come to the conclusion that I'm insane. I must be. To have been raised in such a loving environment and still not fully trust anyone has got to be a big sign of lunacy. I'm a complete basket case. And the ironic thing is that everyone thinks I'm so extremely naive and innocent to the pain of the world. True, I act like I trust everyone and everything. Act. For as long as I can remember, I've been acting. Pretending. Pretending to be a circus girl, dancing on a wire. On a thread that is my sanity.

One day, the thread will break. One day I'll close myself so far in on my own distorted emotions that my sanity will snap. When that day comes, I won't be able to live with the humiliation that comes with being insane. I'll take those deliciously sharp cutting curses and use them on my own freckled flesh.

Then Ginny Weasley will be no more.