Categories > Original > Drama > My Life is an Act [English]
“Please listen to me, Emilia. I’m sorry. Please forgive me! You always forgive others, please also forgive me!”, he said with a slightly laughing undertone. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Was he being serious? He was good at pretending that he means something serious when he actually doesn’t. I had an odd feeling. I would guess it’s anger. “You really think that I will forgive you? You’re pulling the same shit over and over again, and you expect me to forgive you? You know what? You’re right. I do forgive you. That’s one of my weaknesses. I always forgive others, even if I don’t want to. I always say: ‘It’s okay.’, ‘Don’t worry, I’m not mad at you.’, ‘I forgive you.’, and I’m sick of it. I’m sick of always forgiving others no matter what they have done to me. I’m just so fucking sick of it!”, I said, falling down on my knees and breaking into tears. It’s true, I am sick of it. I just never expected that I would ever say it out loud. I didn’t look up. I didn’t want to look at his face. Suddenly I felt two arms around me and pulling me closer to a body. Was that… a hug? Is he hugging me right now? I felt a hand going through my hair and how I slowly calmed down. I couldn’t even remember the last time I was hugged, it must have been long ago. “I’m sorry, really…”, he whispered to me, this time without any undertone. It sounded like he actually meant it. Or at least I wanted to believe it.
—————
Then I woke up and noticed that the only thing that I was hugging was my stuffed animal. It was just a dream. I looked up what time it was. Barely 4 a.m. I still had more than 2 hours before I had to get up. I could try to sleep a bit more. So I was lying there: My stuffed animal in my arms while I tried to sleep. It felt like the time was going forever.
At some point I heard the bells of the church ring once. Half an hour already passed. And I still didn’t fall asleep. Now I had exactly 2 hours until I had to get up. At least a little more sleep.
Then the bells rang five times. That meant that it was already 5 a.m. Tiredness still didn’t overcome me. I was still lying here awake. That was how it was going on for a while already. I went early to bed, but always woke up way too early.
Then the bells again rang once. Another half an hour passed. I have to get up in an hour. Still enough time to get some sleep, even though I fear that I won’t get any sleep or will fall asleep exactly then when I have to get up.
My mother’s alarm clock was ringing. Another 15 minutes passed.
Her alarm clock was ringing every five minutes. At some point the bells of the church were ringing six times as a sign that it’s now 6 a.m. My mother got up. I could hear her. I probably won’t fall asleep anymore. From my bed, I could see the light shining through the door gap. I heard my mother, then it was quiet for a while. Then loud again. And then it was time. She came into my room to wake me up. She went to prepare my breakfast and I stood up to prepare my room. I ate even though I didn’t really want to, she asked how I was feeling where I answered with ‘I’m fine’ just like every morning, I washed my face, put on my clothes and went to school. That’s how it went every day. And every day I forced myself to go to school.
At some point I was in school, at some point I was at home.
I was tired and because of that I fell asleep sooner than usual.
I woke up in night like i often do. I took my phone into my hand to see what time it was. Suddenly I heard how my father whispered something in my ear. Shortly after, I already didn’t know what he said, but then I noticed that I wasn’t even holding my phone. I thought I let it fall, but apparently it was still lying on my desk. It seems that I never took it in the first place.
Finally I actually turned it on, on one hand to see what time it was, on the other hand to see if I was alone. Yes, I was alone. I once again imagined to have heard something. And apparently it was 1:30 a.m.
I couldn’t fall asleep anymore. I wasn’t tired anymore. Well, only a little. But not enough to fall asleep. My mother came into my room to check up on me. Just like she always does. When she left, I still couldn’t fall asleep. An hour passed since i woke up. At some point i forced myself to fall asleep, so I wouldn't have to listen to the weird noises of the neighbor...
——————————
And once again a day like any other.
I woke up. 4:30 a.m. Way too early. What else did I expect. And once again two more hours passed without sleep.
My mother came into my room to wake me up. She asked how I was feeling. I said: "I'm pretty tired. After all, I've been awake for quite a while.“ "Since when are you awake?“ Oh, I didn't expect this question and that even though this question is normal. Should I tell her the truth or say ‘since 6 a.m.‘ like always? I for once decided to her the truth. “Since 4:30 a.m.“ The face of my mother was different than expected. I don't even know what exactly I expected. She looked shocked. She asked if I wanted to stay at home then. I didn't know it yet. She talked a little to me, but I could hardly concentrate on her words. I slowly drifted into daydreaming like i always do in school when I didn't sleep much. She noticed that and stopped talking. She said it's obvious how tired I was. Especially noticeable because of the dark circles under my eyes. But that was because I didn't even try to look awake. It felt good to take that mask off for once. To not pretend that I was feeling perfectly fine. After a while I decided to stay at home.
——————————
I thought of a conversation I once had with my mother. I don't really remember what she was talking about. I know she was complaining about someone. Probably my father. She often does that. I couldn't really listen to her. I was too deep in thought. But one of her sentences disturbed my thoughts. “You're just a child. You shouldn't have to listen to this.“ That surprised me. I am 16 years old. I often joked that ‚I am feeling old’, but behind every joke is a bit of truth, right? I often acted childish, though not as childish as my father, but I was more often serious than childish. I didn't see myself as a child. People tend to mistake me for a 12-years-old kid, but I already saw myself as an adult.
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My father wasn't someone who would openly show me that he loves me. At my hobby, he treated me like everyone else, as if I wasn't his daughter.
I often said stuff that was to be interpreted as that he didn't love me. It would happen more and more that I would say that. I try to cover it as a joke. At first, my father didn't say anything about it. But the more often I said it, the more he would be annoyed of it, the more often he would say that it wasn't true. And yet I still couldn't believe it. It just felt like a lie. It didn't feel honest. But at some point, he started to show it more. For example, when I would hug him, he wasn't as annoyed as before, leaned into the hug or even hugged me back. But the latter is rare. But in the moments where he would hug me back, I'd try to get away from him because I always think he wants to tickle me or something.
To hug him was something special for me, especially since I couldn't do it that often.
—————
It only took a few weeks until he was back to his normal self, and he reacted annoyed to the hugs and avoided them as good ad possible.
——————————
It's snowing. In November. It's making me sad. When I first saw it snowing in November, I wasn't even sure if it was actually snowing. No one from my class was talking about it when snow was falling. No snow covered the ground. Nothing was indicating to it having been snowing.
A few days later it was snowing once again. Or this time for real. Everyone saw it, everyone said something about it. Snow stayed on the ground and covered the world in its beautiful, white color.
But the snow still made me sad. And I don't even know why.
——————————
Sylvester of this year. Something I won't like to remember. My mother was feeling awful. She was in a lot of pain. She was crying. It almost seemed as if my father and I needed to call the emergency number for her. I kept trying to comfort her. Her head was against my neck. I was stroking her head with my hand, while my other hand was rubbing circles on her back. She only calmed down a bit.
Then there was the countdown. My father prepared for himself and me some Cognac.
10
My mother was still feeling bad.
9
She got some Coke to drink.
8
The alcohol would be bad for her.
7
Not because alcohol is bad in general, but because of her blood pressure.
6
Soon it's time.
5
Soon the new year would begin.
4
I'm someone who doesn't like to make resolutions.
3
The only thing I want to do is to go to a psychologist.
2
Just a tad longer.
1
Soon.
0
"Happy new year!“
—————
I was watching the fireworks. It's making me sad. "When I go, I hope I‘ll go out just just as beautifully“. I was thinking about that because of the fireworks. About this Bungo Stray Dogs WAN scene.
I want to go, say goodbye to this world. Maybe not this beautiful. Taking your life can't look beautiful, can it? Or maybe it can? It probably depends on the method.
But while I was watching the fireworks, I was trying to make it not obvious how I was feeling. Sadly successful, like always. Others only rarely notice that I'm acting before them. That every time they see me, it's just an act.
I'm wondering if there are also such beautiful fireworks in the afterlife. An afterlife that I don't believe in, and firework that hopefully won't make me sad then anymore, because I'll finally be gone.
——————————
Several days later it was my 17th birthday. Not really the best day. On one hand, because I became older and by that spent longer on this planet, and on the other hand, because I didn't want to celebrate this day.
My birthday itself was alright. I liked most of the presents.
Later on, my father and I drank some of the Cognac.
——————————
I am tired. I am sleeping way too bad and too little. But even if I sleep enough, I'm still tired.
I could almost fall asleep in school. But I'd rather prefer to avoid the embarrassment that would come from that.
——————————
Today was physical education, PE, class. Basketball. I don't like basketball. Or in general PE. Funny, because I was doing basketball outside of school for some time. But not anymore. For a long time already.
Today, the class was good for once. Because on one hand, I was actually playing with the others. Usually I just run around and try to play. Unsuccessful. Because the others students don't even notice me.
But today I actually played with them. After class, two students said to me: “Woah, Emilia, you played really good today“. You can't imagine how happy that made me.
——————————
My father doesn't know anymore if I'm telling the truth or if I'm just acting. I'm saying my opinion to something. He doesn't believe just because he thinks that I'm acting. According to him, I'm good at it. A year ago, he would have said that I'm bad at acting. As soon as you have drama class, you're being called a good actress, even though you still have the same abilities as before.
——————————
“Beautiful feelings make bad literature.“
I read that sentence for the first time in "The Flowers of Buffoonery“ by Osamu Dazai. But the book describes the sentence in a different way than I would have interpreted (hopefully my German teacher would be proud of me (probably not)). Because I see it as that too many feelings make it a not so good book. But the sentence can also mean (in my opinion) that too many positive feelings make it a not so good book. In the book, it was said that an author can use that sentence only once. I'm not an author, so can I use that sentence more than once? Or am I automatically an author because I am writing this? I don't know. But what I believe to know is that technically I am using that sentence here if we're going with my second interpretation. Because I would say that here aren't many positive feelings. Or am I just confused by my own interpretation? I don't think so. Or maybe yes? Eh, whatever.
——————————
My life keeps breaking apart. There was a night when I was more than happy. Then everything was as before and even worse. Today has been a month since that special day.
I'm scared that I won't manage school. I'm already failing one class, but the teacher doesn't want to give me a chance for a better grade because I'm often sick, I don't say anything in class, I'm so unmotivated and I ‘don't learn’ for the tests. (Even if I learn for the test, nothing from what I learned is in the test. My classmates themselves say that it's impossible to get a good grade with that teacher.) But I doubt that I won't manage this year, otherwise I would have already gotten a letter from school.
Since I'm often not in school, my school only wants me to bring sick notes from a doctor. That's been going on for a while already. A while ago I wasn't feeling well mentally (stress after exams) and I wanted to stay at home. My mother called the doctor because of the sick note. The nurse that took the phone was complaining because I wanted to stay at home because of that. She asked how it should go once I am working. Somehow it came to the point that my depression became part of the conversation and the nurse said that I should go to a psychologist if my mother doesn't want to see me hanging from the ceiling. After the call, my mother asked me if I have thought about suicide. I laughed a bit because she pronounced it funnily. But mostly I didn’t want to answer her question. She became more serious and I answered yes. But she doesn't know that I still have those thoughts.
My private life in general is breaking apart. But those are details that I don't want to mention. Yesterday, my father talked to me about my psyche. He knows that my psyche isn't alright. And yet he doesn't want me to go to a psychologist. My mother would want that I go to one, but I don't because of my father.
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In the afternoon, I had a doctor’s appointment. Nothing special, supposedly. My doctor talked to me about my psyche and whatsoever. For example about my positive depression test that I took a while ago. She asked me questions because of that. For some unknown reason, my mother didn't answer the questions truthfully. Or did she just answer what she thought was the truth? For example, she said that at the time I did the test, I had a lot of stress and that's probably why I answered the way I did. I didn't want to correct her and that's when I realized that I messed up. The doctor also asked some questions specifically directed to me and since my mother already didn't answer truthfully, I continued that way. The worst question was if I have joy in life. I just said yes to that question. I was too stuck in the lies, I couldn't get out anymore. The doctor said or rather agreed with my mother that it was just stress or something like that and that because of that I don't need a psychologist. She said it's obvious that I'm doing good, since I could laugh so much. Did I get stuck in my lies so much that it's not visible anymore how I'm actually feeling? Have I perfected my mask, my act, so much that others fall for it so easily? Or did I trick myself already into thinking the opposite of my actual feelings? I don't know. I only know that when she claimed that, I felt miserable and was close to tears.
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It's sad to think that other people think I'm doing better in my new class than in my old one. Partly I'm doing better, but partly I'm doing worse. Better because I get along with more students. Worse because the ones I don't get along with make it obvious that they don't like me. And PE class has only gotten worse with the new classmates (luckily I'll never have to go there again). And of course I only talk about the good things at home (I don't want my parents to complain to the school again (it went awful last time)). But the fact that my mother talked about it at the doctor yesterday as if everything was fine now (even though it's worse now in some ways) is still bad to me. And I don't know what to do about it, because when I explained my problem with PE class to my mother, she partly didn't understand it and partly misunderstood it. And my father understood my problem, but somehow presented it as if it was my fault. But I don't even know why the kids don't like me! When it comes to PE class, it's not because I'm not good in sports (others are worse than me in that class). But why then? And how am I supposed to find out?
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I saw my father cry for the first time. In my entire short life, I have never seen him cry until today. I knew that our current situation was affecting him, but I didn't know how bad it really was for him. And I - the selfish daughter that I am - was too focused on myself and made his life even harder.
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Last night was bad again. I cried a lot and hyperventilated (that never happened before). And that was just because my mother told me that I'm not 7 anymore. That's right. I'm not 7 anymore, I'm 17. And her statement made it clear that I've lost many years of my childhood. Lost to a strict upbringing, bullying and mental health. And even though I now always play the clown, a child, a not serious person, it's still just a mask in an attempt to somehow get some years of my childhood back, even though I know that soon I'm not a child anymore and it's useless to try to get those years back.
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It hurts to know that my parents don't believe that I'm sick until I have a fever. I can feel as bad as possible, but I'm only considered sick when I have a fever. I told them how I was feeling the whole time and they didn't take me seriously. Then I got a fever. I just didn't see the point in showing how I was feeling anymore. So I pretended that I was fine. My parents, especially my father, didn't understand how I could be so active and healthy with a high fever. They just don't know how much of it was actually an act. Basically all of it.
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Every day it becomes harder and harder to keep up my act. But even the best actor can't keep up their act forever, right? So it won't be long before my mask falls apart and the real me comes out. But what even is the real me? I don't even know if I would recognize it even if it was standing right in front of me and would be shaking my hand. Who am I truly? Am I so stuck in my act that I can't even get out of this character and be myself? Ridiculous.
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Sometimes I just want to get away from this planet. I just can't take it anymore. Too many people only think about themselves and ignore those who have problems. Whenever I try to help someone, I often don't even get a simple ‘thank you’. A ‘thank you’ would be nice to hear. But that probably won't happen for a while. Until then, I have to keep living and surviving on this planet until I meet real, nice people. People who are interested in others. People who can also say ‘thank you’. Now that I'm having these thoughts, am I even human? Am I also so focused on myself? Physically, I am definitely human. I once took an online test out of boredom, ‘Am I human?’. ‘A paranoid android’ was the result. Of course, that's just nonsense. After all, I am physically human. But am I mentally human too? I have to be. But it doesn't feel like it. I am so different compared to other people. Or am I even different? Because all the thoughts I have now make me seem more human, don't they? My thoughts that are just about myself. I complain about others because they only think about themselves, and yet I do the exact same thing. I am more human than I would like to think. But as soon as I am with others, I am what I always am. The ‘thing’ that puts on a mask just to be liked by others.
—————
Then I woke up and noticed that the only thing that I was hugging was my stuffed animal. It was just a dream. I looked up what time it was. Barely 4 a.m. I still had more than 2 hours before I had to get up. I could try to sleep a bit more. So I was lying there: My stuffed animal in my arms while I tried to sleep. It felt like the time was going forever.
At some point I heard the bells of the church ring once. Half an hour already passed. And I still didn’t fall asleep. Now I had exactly 2 hours until I had to get up. At least a little more sleep.
Then the bells rang five times. That meant that it was already 5 a.m. Tiredness still didn’t overcome me. I was still lying here awake. That was how it was going on for a while already. I went early to bed, but always woke up way too early.
Then the bells again rang once. Another half an hour passed. I have to get up in an hour. Still enough time to get some sleep, even though I fear that I won’t get any sleep or will fall asleep exactly then when I have to get up.
My mother’s alarm clock was ringing. Another 15 minutes passed.
Her alarm clock was ringing every five minutes. At some point the bells of the church were ringing six times as a sign that it’s now 6 a.m. My mother got up. I could hear her. I probably won’t fall asleep anymore. From my bed, I could see the light shining through the door gap. I heard my mother, then it was quiet for a while. Then loud again. And then it was time. She came into my room to wake me up. She went to prepare my breakfast and I stood up to prepare my room. I ate even though I didn’t really want to, she asked how I was feeling where I answered with ‘I’m fine’ just like every morning, I washed my face, put on my clothes and went to school. That’s how it went every day. And every day I forced myself to go to school.
At some point I was in school, at some point I was at home.
I was tired and because of that I fell asleep sooner than usual.
I woke up in night like i often do. I took my phone into my hand to see what time it was. Suddenly I heard how my father whispered something in my ear. Shortly after, I already didn’t know what he said, but then I noticed that I wasn’t even holding my phone. I thought I let it fall, but apparently it was still lying on my desk. It seems that I never took it in the first place.
Finally I actually turned it on, on one hand to see what time it was, on the other hand to see if I was alone. Yes, I was alone. I once again imagined to have heard something. And apparently it was 1:30 a.m.
I couldn’t fall asleep anymore. I wasn’t tired anymore. Well, only a little. But not enough to fall asleep. My mother came into my room to check up on me. Just like she always does. When she left, I still couldn’t fall asleep. An hour passed since i woke up. At some point i forced myself to fall asleep, so I wouldn't have to listen to the weird noises of the neighbor...
——————————
And once again a day like any other.
I woke up. 4:30 a.m. Way too early. What else did I expect. And once again two more hours passed without sleep.
My mother came into my room to wake me up. She asked how I was feeling. I said: "I'm pretty tired. After all, I've been awake for quite a while.“ "Since when are you awake?“ Oh, I didn't expect this question and that even though this question is normal. Should I tell her the truth or say ‘since 6 a.m.‘ like always? I for once decided to her the truth. “Since 4:30 a.m.“ The face of my mother was different than expected. I don't even know what exactly I expected. She looked shocked. She asked if I wanted to stay at home then. I didn't know it yet. She talked a little to me, but I could hardly concentrate on her words. I slowly drifted into daydreaming like i always do in school when I didn't sleep much. She noticed that and stopped talking. She said it's obvious how tired I was. Especially noticeable because of the dark circles under my eyes. But that was because I didn't even try to look awake. It felt good to take that mask off for once. To not pretend that I was feeling perfectly fine. After a while I decided to stay at home.
——————————
I thought of a conversation I once had with my mother. I don't really remember what she was talking about. I know she was complaining about someone. Probably my father. She often does that. I couldn't really listen to her. I was too deep in thought. But one of her sentences disturbed my thoughts. “You're just a child. You shouldn't have to listen to this.“ That surprised me. I am 16 years old. I often joked that ‚I am feeling old’, but behind every joke is a bit of truth, right? I often acted childish, though not as childish as my father, but I was more often serious than childish. I didn't see myself as a child. People tend to mistake me for a 12-years-old kid, but I already saw myself as an adult.
——————————
My father wasn't someone who would openly show me that he loves me. At my hobby, he treated me like everyone else, as if I wasn't his daughter.
I often said stuff that was to be interpreted as that he didn't love me. It would happen more and more that I would say that. I try to cover it as a joke. At first, my father didn't say anything about it. But the more often I said it, the more he would be annoyed of it, the more often he would say that it wasn't true. And yet I still couldn't believe it. It just felt like a lie. It didn't feel honest. But at some point, he started to show it more. For example, when I would hug him, he wasn't as annoyed as before, leaned into the hug or even hugged me back. But the latter is rare. But in the moments where he would hug me back, I'd try to get away from him because I always think he wants to tickle me or something.
To hug him was something special for me, especially since I couldn't do it that often.
—————
It only took a few weeks until he was back to his normal self, and he reacted annoyed to the hugs and avoided them as good ad possible.
——————————
It's snowing. In November. It's making me sad. When I first saw it snowing in November, I wasn't even sure if it was actually snowing. No one from my class was talking about it when snow was falling. No snow covered the ground. Nothing was indicating to it having been snowing.
A few days later it was snowing once again. Or this time for real. Everyone saw it, everyone said something about it. Snow stayed on the ground and covered the world in its beautiful, white color.
But the snow still made me sad. And I don't even know why.
——————————
Sylvester of this year. Something I won't like to remember. My mother was feeling awful. She was in a lot of pain. She was crying. It almost seemed as if my father and I needed to call the emergency number for her. I kept trying to comfort her. Her head was against my neck. I was stroking her head with my hand, while my other hand was rubbing circles on her back. She only calmed down a bit.
Then there was the countdown. My father prepared for himself and me some Cognac.
10
My mother was still feeling bad.
9
She got some Coke to drink.
8
The alcohol would be bad for her.
7
Not because alcohol is bad in general, but because of her blood pressure.
6
Soon it's time.
5
Soon the new year would begin.
4
I'm someone who doesn't like to make resolutions.
3
The only thing I want to do is to go to a psychologist.
2
Just a tad longer.
1
Soon.
0
"Happy new year!“
—————
I was watching the fireworks. It's making me sad. "When I go, I hope I‘ll go out just just as beautifully“. I was thinking about that because of the fireworks. About this Bungo Stray Dogs WAN scene.
I want to go, say goodbye to this world. Maybe not this beautiful. Taking your life can't look beautiful, can it? Or maybe it can? It probably depends on the method.
But while I was watching the fireworks, I was trying to make it not obvious how I was feeling. Sadly successful, like always. Others only rarely notice that I'm acting before them. That every time they see me, it's just an act.
I'm wondering if there are also such beautiful fireworks in the afterlife. An afterlife that I don't believe in, and firework that hopefully won't make me sad then anymore, because I'll finally be gone.
——————————
Several days later it was my 17th birthday. Not really the best day. On one hand, because I became older and by that spent longer on this planet, and on the other hand, because I didn't want to celebrate this day.
My birthday itself was alright. I liked most of the presents.
Later on, my father and I drank some of the Cognac.
——————————
I am tired. I am sleeping way too bad and too little. But even if I sleep enough, I'm still tired.
I could almost fall asleep in school. But I'd rather prefer to avoid the embarrassment that would come from that.
——————————
Today was physical education, PE, class. Basketball. I don't like basketball. Or in general PE. Funny, because I was doing basketball outside of school for some time. But not anymore. For a long time already.
Today, the class was good for once. Because on one hand, I was actually playing with the others. Usually I just run around and try to play. Unsuccessful. Because the others students don't even notice me.
But today I actually played with them. After class, two students said to me: “Woah, Emilia, you played really good today“. You can't imagine how happy that made me.
——————————
My father doesn't know anymore if I'm telling the truth or if I'm just acting. I'm saying my opinion to something. He doesn't believe just because he thinks that I'm acting. According to him, I'm good at it. A year ago, he would have said that I'm bad at acting. As soon as you have drama class, you're being called a good actress, even though you still have the same abilities as before.
——————————
“Beautiful feelings make bad literature.“
I read that sentence for the first time in "The Flowers of Buffoonery“ by Osamu Dazai. But the book describes the sentence in a different way than I would have interpreted (hopefully my German teacher would be proud of me (probably not)). Because I see it as that too many feelings make it a not so good book. But the sentence can also mean (in my opinion) that too many positive feelings make it a not so good book. In the book, it was said that an author can use that sentence only once. I'm not an author, so can I use that sentence more than once? Or am I automatically an author because I am writing this? I don't know. But what I believe to know is that technically I am using that sentence here if we're going with my second interpretation. Because I would say that here aren't many positive feelings. Or am I just confused by my own interpretation? I don't think so. Or maybe yes? Eh, whatever.
——————————
My life keeps breaking apart. There was a night when I was more than happy. Then everything was as before and even worse. Today has been a month since that special day.
I'm scared that I won't manage school. I'm already failing one class, but the teacher doesn't want to give me a chance for a better grade because I'm often sick, I don't say anything in class, I'm so unmotivated and I ‘don't learn’ for the tests. (Even if I learn for the test, nothing from what I learned is in the test. My classmates themselves say that it's impossible to get a good grade with that teacher.) But I doubt that I won't manage this year, otherwise I would have already gotten a letter from school.
Since I'm often not in school, my school only wants me to bring sick notes from a doctor. That's been going on for a while already. A while ago I wasn't feeling well mentally (stress after exams) and I wanted to stay at home. My mother called the doctor because of the sick note. The nurse that took the phone was complaining because I wanted to stay at home because of that. She asked how it should go once I am working. Somehow it came to the point that my depression became part of the conversation and the nurse said that I should go to a psychologist if my mother doesn't want to see me hanging from the ceiling. After the call, my mother asked me if I have thought about suicide. I laughed a bit because she pronounced it funnily. But mostly I didn’t want to answer her question. She became more serious and I answered yes. But she doesn't know that I still have those thoughts.
My private life in general is breaking apart. But those are details that I don't want to mention. Yesterday, my father talked to me about my psyche. He knows that my psyche isn't alright. And yet he doesn't want me to go to a psychologist. My mother would want that I go to one, but I don't because of my father.
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In the afternoon, I had a doctor’s appointment. Nothing special, supposedly. My doctor talked to me about my psyche and whatsoever. For example about my positive depression test that I took a while ago. She asked me questions because of that. For some unknown reason, my mother didn't answer the questions truthfully. Or did she just answer what she thought was the truth? For example, she said that at the time I did the test, I had a lot of stress and that's probably why I answered the way I did. I didn't want to correct her and that's when I realized that I messed up. The doctor also asked some questions specifically directed to me and since my mother already didn't answer truthfully, I continued that way. The worst question was if I have joy in life. I just said yes to that question. I was too stuck in the lies, I couldn't get out anymore. The doctor said or rather agreed with my mother that it was just stress or something like that and that because of that I don't need a psychologist. She said it's obvious that I'm doing good, since I could laugh so much. Did I get stuck in my lies so much that it's not visible anymore how I'm actually feeling? Have I perfected my mask, my act, so much that others fall for it so easily? Or did I trick myself already into thinking the opposite of my actual feelings? I don't know. I only know that when she claimed that, I felt miserable and was close to tears.
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It's sad to think that other people think I'm doing better in my new class than in my old one. Partly I'm doing better, but partly I'm doing worse. Better because I get along with more students. Worse because the ones I don't get along with make it obvious that they don't like me. And PE class has only gotten worse with the new classmates (luckily I'll never have to go there again). And of course I only talk about the good things at home (I don't want my parents to complain to the school again (it went awful last time)). But the fact that my mother talked about it at the doctor yesterday as if everything was fine now (even though it's worse now in some ways) is still bad to me. And I don't know what to do about it, because when I explained my problem with PE class to my mother, she partly didn't understand it and partly misunderstood it. And my father understood my problem, but somehow presented it as if it was my fault. But I don't even know why the kids don't like me! When it comes to PE class, it's not because I'm not good in sports (others are worse than me in that class). But why then? And how am I supposed to find out?
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I saw my father cry for the first time. In my entire short life, I have never seen him cry until today. I knew that our current situation was affecting him, but I didn't know how bad it really was for him. And I - the selfish daughter that I am - was too focused on myself and made his life even harder.
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Last night was bad again. I cried a lot and hyperventilated (that never happened before). And that was just because my mother told me that I'm not 7 anymore. That's right. I'm not 7 anymore, I'm 17. And her statement made it clear that I've lost many years of my childhood. Lost to a strict upbringing, bullying and mental health. And even though I now always play the clown, a child, a not serious person, it's still just a mask in an attempt to somehow get some years of my childhood back, even though I know that soon I'm not a child anymore and it's useless to try to get those years back.
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It hurts to know that my parents don't believe that I'm sick until I have a fever. I can feel as bad as possible, but I'm only considered sick when I have a fever. I told them how I was feeling the whole time and they didn't take me seriously. Then I got a fever. I just didn't see the point in showing how I was feeling anymore. So I pretended that I was fine. My parents, especially my father, didn't understand how I could be so active and healthy with a high fever. They just don't know how much of it was actually an act. Basically all of it.
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Every day it becomes harder and harder to keep up my act. But even the best actor can't keep up their act forever, right? So it won't be long before my mask falls apart and the real me comes out. But what even is the real me? I don't even know if I would recognize it even if it was standing right in front of me and would be shaking my hand. Who am I truly? Am I so stuck in my act that I can't even get out of this character and be myself? Ridiculous.
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Sometimes I just want to get away from this planet. I just can't take it anymore. Too many people only think about themselves and ignore those who have problems. Whenever I try to help someone, I often don't even get a simple ‘thank you’. A ‘thank you’ would be nice to hear. But that probably won't happen for a while. Until then, I have to keep living and surviving on this planet until I meet real, nice people. People who are interested in others. People who can also say ‘thank you’. Now that I'm having these thoughts, am I even human? Am I also so focused on myself? Physically, I am definitely human. I once took an online test out of boredom, ‘Am I human?’. ‘A paranoid android’ was the result. Of course, that's just nonsense. After all, I am physically human. But am I mentally human too? I have to be. But it doesn't feel like it. I am so different compared to other people. Or am I even different? Because all the thoughts I have now make me seem more human, don't they? My thoughts that are just about myself. I complain about others because they only think about themselves, and yet I do the exact same thing. I am more human than I would like to think. But as soon as I am with others, I am what I always am. The ‘thing’ that puts on a mask just to be liked by others.
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