Will I Ever Stop Being So Afraid?
Mom just had a heart-to-heart talk to me. I say "to" and not "with" because in reality, I hadn't participated. It was an intervention, not a discussion. It wasn't that I wasn't allowed to, I was simply..afraid.
The truth is, she had seen me crying on the phone with Amelia two days ago (as written per my last post) and she had assumed it was over a boy (ridiculous since we all know how flat my love-life is) or a book (understandable.) or a storyline (also understandable.). I'd given her the usual "I'm fine, it's nothing" but she's quite persistent.
It's obvious she knew I'm hiding a lotta shit, but I think she might be referring to the failed interviews. Or at least, I hope she is.
She told me I've been an egotistical assbutt (not in that wording but you get the gist) and while I agree I was before everything went up to shit, the thought that went through my mind was "yeah but right now I'm just a pile of shame, guilt, fear, and self-hatred."
I can't help but think if I ever will relay them the story of how their daughter had a traumatic experience and never really bounced back because she never knew what was going on.
How she had a ground-breaking breakthrough at 18 and everything that's ever happened in the silent nights and confused tears for 4 fucking years finally make fucking sense.
Why her fear grows.
Why she began to disassociate with things she used to love.
People she used to care about.
I'm scared shitless in my pants, that if I do finally tell them, they will dismiss it and tease me over my over-active imagination. Telling me to stop exaggerate my stories. After all, I've always been a good storyteller.
The first time I gained courage and told Sis, she had called me a liar and told me to stop creating false stories to make me look so victimized. Told me how I exaggerate things.
"Jeez man, I thought you grew out of that shit. You always exaggerate the little things."
I never told a soul for months after that.
I don't blame her, I really don't. She doesn't know half the things that goes through her mouth sometimes and I realize that. It doesn't make the hurt any less. I don't hate her for it -please, like I could ever hate her for anything- yet it doesn't change the fact that it is the reason for my unfounded fear of revealing my illness to Mom and Dad.
The thing with mental illness is, they're invisible.
I can't pop out a hospital record or a doctor's diagnosis. There's nothing wrong or abnormal with my physical body. I can't check out proof or some kinda evidence that explains the screams in my head or the chanting demons in my brain.
I am simply broken.
The very main reason I am afraid is because I love them so much, and they're the most important people in this whole wide world to me. I am so afraid I half-expect my lungs to collapse from it.
I am not afraid to tell my friends or other people because I could care less about their opinions or thoughts. Whether they believe me or not, dismiss me or not, laugh or tease me about it, I wouldn't give a flying fuck. Except for Amelia. She's a special case.
I never chose to tell Amelia, for the one reason she knew about it before I did. She put two and two together and just waited for the ceiling to dump on me. When I had that breakthrough embarrassingly in the middle of a fucking class of all times, she held over my trembling fist and stayed there.
Amelia had been my anchor.
For many days and events when I couldn't grasp or even function and teetering over the edge, she was always there, reeling in the safety rope. She knew, and most importantly, she understand.
She won't tease me for it, and she won't ever make fun of it.
That's how you know a real bestfriend.
The most important thing to you will not be underestimated lightly.
And to think, all she want from me is to stay.
I don't know if I ever will tell Mom and Dad about the thing 7 years ago. To tell you the truth, I am over the whole thing. It's just the remnants of what has been broken, jiggling around up here.
But it is where it all began.
I don't know if I will ever stop being so afraid.
Taming a dragon would be a much easier task.
The truth is, she had seen me crying on the phone with Amelia two days ago (as written per my last post) and she had assumed it was over a boy (ridiculous since we all know how flat my love-life is) or a book (understandable.) or a storyline (also understandable.). I'd given her the usual "I'm fine, it's nothing" but she's quite persistent.
It's obvious she knew I'm hiding a lotta shit, but I think she might be referring to the failed interviews. Or at least, I hope she is.
She told me I've been an egotistical assbutt (not in that wording but you get the gist) and while I agree I was before everything went up to shit, the thought that went through my mind was "yeah but right now I'm just a pile of shame, guilt, fear, and self-hatred."
I can't help but think if I ever will relay them the story of how their daughter had a traumatic experience and never really bounced back because she never knew what was going on.
How she had a ground-breaking breakthrough at 18 and everything that's ever happened in the silent nights and confused tears for 4 fucking years finally make fucking sense.
Why her fear grows.
Why she began to disassociate with things she used to love.
People she used to care about.
I'm scared shitless in my pants, that if I do finally tell them, they will dismiss it and tease me over my over-active imagination. Telling me to stop exaggerate my stories. After all, I've always been a good storyteller.
The first time I gained courage and told Sis, she had called me a liar and told me to stop creating false stories to make me look so victimized. Told me how I exaggerate things.
"Jeez man, I thought you grew out of that shit. You always exaggerate the little things."
I never told a soul for months after that.
I don't blame her, I really don't. She doesn't know half the things that goes through her mouth sometimes and I realize that. It doesn't make the hurt any less. I don't hate her for it -please, like I could ever hate her for anything- yet it doesn't change the fact that it is the reason for my unfounded fear of revealing my illness to Mom and Dad.
The thing with mental illness is, they're invisible.
I can't pop out a hospital record or a doctor's diagnosis. There's nothing wrong or abnormal with my physical body. I can't check out proof or some kinda evidence that explains the screams in my head or the chanting demons in my brain.
I am simply broken.
The very main reason I am afraid is because I love them so much, and they're the most important people in this whole wide world to me. I am so afraid I half-expect my lungs to collapse from it.
I am not afraid to tell my friends or other people because I could care less about their opinions or thoughts. Whether they believe me or not, dismiss me or not, laugh or tease me about it, I wouldn't give a flying fuck. Except for Amelia. She's a special case.
I never chose to tell Amelia, for the one reason she knew about it before I did. She put two and two together and just waited for the ceiling to dump on me. When I had that breakthrough embarrassingly in the middle of a fucking class of all times, she held over my trembling fist and stayed there.
Amelia had been my anchor.
For many days and events when I couldn't grasp or even function and teetering over the edge, she was always there, reeling in the safety rope. She knew, and most importantly, she understand.
She won't tease me for it, and she won't ever make fun of it.
That's how you know a real bestfriend.
The most important thing to you will not be underestimated lightly.
And to think, all she want from me is to stay.
I don't know if I ever will tell Mom and Dad about the thing 7 years ago. To tell you the truth, I am over the whole thing. It's just the remnants of what has been broken, jiggling around up here.
But it is where it all began.
I don't know if I will ever stop being so afraid.
Taming a dragon would be a much easier task.
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