I, Alone
I am on my lonesome. I am in a tiny little room, intended to be an office. I am trying my best to write one of the psych reports for class. I am struggling.
I am struggling not only because it is late at night and I've been distracted all night long. I've also had a lot on my mind.
I've not talked to my parents since Saturday. That counts to close to 5 days. We live in the same house. We just pass each other by like strangers. I make a scowl when they cross my path. They do the same.
Ever since I made this comment on Facebook, they've treated me this way. Especially my father. It's not easy.
It's odd that one weird comment, one that nobody really took seriously, found its way for him to read. And he went from telling people that I was his "favorite" and the son he was "proud of" to being the one "I wish I never raised".
Really? Over a Facebook post, that I deleted anyway?
I swear. He is overreacting like a petulant child. He is responding to this little thing with so much fear. He's afraid somebody's going to bust open the door outside and punish him for something he likely didn't do anyway.
But well. That's what fear does. It makes us build walls. It makes us push people, bully people, leak out bad emotions to others.
He went from loving me, his eldest son, to treating me like a pariah in my own house.
I'm actually not too torn up about it. I know he acted out of fear. He's afraid. He's scared.
Yet, this is the same son who opened up to him about his emotional and psychological worries. This is the son who told him, in confidence, that he was experiencing awful symptoms of a concussion, complete with the moods and the suicidal thoughts. This is the son who was open to him about that because he felt he could trust him, because of a spirit of openness at home they tried to work on, where they could speak their hearts freely. This is the son who confided feeling like he wanted to kill himself, and reached out to his father for support.
And this is the Dad, who, due to Facebook and one post that was not construed properly, decided to spurn his son, tell him he was ashamed and hated him, and decided to isolate him from the rest of the household with little food and water.
This is my life. My moods are pretty much the same. I still daydream of cutting open my neck. I still try not to talk about those moods.I still do my best to appear happy and content, and on the whole cheerful over little things.
But this is not the pretty and clean-cut world we read in books. I'm really just hanging on to any little bit of good news. It could be the Ateneo Women's Volleyball team winning (and I don't really like volleyball that hard), or the smile of a nice classmate, or the story of a survivor of difficult times saying he's gonna be okay. They all remind me of a possible, potential future that will be better someday.
Maybe I'll never see that future. Maybe I'll be lying alone, covered in my own blood. Maybe I'll have taken up the offer of the knife to help me and my neck cut. Maybe I'll have decided to climb up to the top floor of some building and jumped. (And given how tough other parts of my life are getting, the timing might be right!)
Maybe I'll be dead one night. I'm just writing and hoping it won't be tonight-----------.
I am struggling not only because it is late at night and I've been distracted all night long. I've also had a lot on my mind.
I've not talked to my parents since Saturday. That counts to close to 5 days. We live in the same house. We just pass each other by like strangers. I make a scowl when they cross my path. They do the same.
Ever since I made this comment on Facebook, they've treated me this way. Especially my father. It's not easy.
It's odd that one weird comment, one that nobody really took seriously, found its way for him to read. And he went from telling people that I was his "favorite" and the son he was "proud of" to being the one "I wish I never raised".
Really? Over a Facebook post, that I deleted anyway?
I swear. He is overreacting like a petulant child. He is responding to this little thing with so much fear. He's afraid somebody's going to bust open the door outside and punish him for something he likely didn't do anyway.
But well. That's what fear does. It makes us build walls. It makes us push people, bully people, leak out bad emotions to others.
He went from loving me, his eldest son, to treating me like a pariah in my own house.
I'm actually not too torn up about it. I know he acted out of fear. He's afraid. He's scared.
Yet, this is the same son who opened up to him about his emotional and psychological worries. This is the son who told him, in confidence, that he was experiencing awful symptoms of a concussion, complete with the moods and the suicidal thoughts. This is the son who was open to him about that because he felt he could trust him, because of a spirit of openness at home they tried to work on, where they could speak their hearts freely. This is the son who confided feeling like he wanted to kill himself, and reached out to his father for support.
And this is the Dad, who, due to Facebook and one post that was not construed properly, decided to spurn his son, tell him he was ashamed and hated him, and decided to isolate him from the rest of the household with little food and water.
This is my life. My moods are pretty much the same. I still daydream of cutting open my neck. I still try not to talk about those moods.I still do my best to appear happy and content, and on the whole cheerful over little things.
But this is not the pretty and clean-cut world we read in books. I'm really just hanging on to any little bit of good news. It could be the Ateneo Women's Volleyball team winning (and I don't really like volleyball that hard), or the smile of a nice classmate, or the story of a survivor of difficult times saying he's gonna be okay. They all remind me of a possible, potential future that will be better someday.
Maybe I'll never see that future. Maybe I'll be lying alone, covered in my own blood. Maybe I'll have taken up the offer of the knife to help me and my neck cut. Maybe I'll have decided to climb up to the top floor of some building and jumped. (And given how tough other parts of my life are getting, the timing might be right!)
Maybe I'll be dead one night. I'm just writing and hoping it won't be tonight-----------.