I’ve come to realize that when someone asks any variation of “how are you?” They don’t want to hear the truth. They want to hear something along the lines of “I’m good, thanks.” So they can go on and not feel guilty about not having asked why you’re sad. If you didn’t admit it, you’re not right?
The same goes for when they do actually ask if you’re upset about something. They don’t want to hear that you feel like your entire life is crumbling around you, they just want to look like a caring person for five seconds.
So you hide behind “I’m fine” and “just tired”, as if repeating yourself over and over everyday will somehow make it true.
Of course, normally I do feel exhausted anytime I’m forced out of my warm bed, but that’s beside the point.
The point is I spend eight hours of my day trying not to fall asleep in class so I can pass. Now, I wouldn’t care less about passing if getting the highest possible GPA and a scholarship at the end of my high school career wasn’t the only way I could get out of this dreadful town.
You’d think that after those eight lost hours every week day (except Fridays) I would be relieved I get to go home and relax. Which I would be, if that wasn’t the opposite of what happened once I got home. Because home is where all I can hear is arguing parents and loud ass siblings. And within this crazy mess of an unhappy family is the eldest daughter who is always ignored. That is, until she screws one little thing up.
See in my house, I am the one who sits in the background and behaves herself. I am the one who’s opinions and questions don’t matter. I have to scream over a tv to gain my fathers attention for more than a second. Which only means it’s gone after two.
So I have grown accustomed to fading into the background and disappearing to my room every afternoon.
The days I am forced to stay downstairs are also the ones that I have to actually witness every member of my immediate family complain about me. (Most of the time I have to accidentally overhear). But as if my parents complaining about me when I’m not around isn’t enough, I get to hear how worthless right then and there.
So it’s only natural that I have become absolutely convinced that I’m not allowed to screw up because they will hate me more if I do. And when I do screw up like all humans do, I seriously feel the urge to throw myself off a bridge.
Back to the original topic, after I have successfully survived dinner and my chores I can actually retreat to my room and have some peace. But instead of this being a happy place I can escape to, my room (and more specifically my bed) has become the place I can’t escape. By the time I open the door, a day’s worth of frustration and self loathing is pouring out of my tear ducts. Of course I lie in my bed for hours throughout the night telling myself I am worthless and it’s no wonder no one talks to me. So of course I don’t get much sleep. Late night tears and hideous thoughts plague my nights.
And let me tell you one thing if you haven’t already figured it out; this royally sucks and the only thing I wish for when 11:11 rolls around is the happiness I’ve forgotten. Even if it means a premature, self-inflicted death.