Angry Post [May Contain Expletives and Depressing Material]
Really, I'm supposed to be studying for my final history exam but right now I'm finding it practically impossible to do anything. I can't read my text book, I can't type up notes or even sit still long enough to contemplate school work! I tried writing some fan fic yesterday- I couldn't do it, I just couldn't get the words out of my head and onto paper. I've just got this huge gob of pent up anger and fear jammed inside my skull and it's making it absolutely impossible to feel even remotely normal or motivated. I know it's my emotions screwing with me because just thinking about my life makes my throat tighten like I'm choking on something and I get this insane urge to just run- to sprint until I'm too busy panting and hurting to think.
Part of the problem is that I'm just so damn good at pretending- putting on the image that everything's alright and I'm just like everyone else. It's like there's two of me but I've been using that other persona - the happy, normal one - so much that even I don't know who I really am anymore. You see, faking it helps for a while- you don't know what to do, who to turn to or why you're feeling so shit so you keep it to yourself. I didn't think there was too much wrong with me at the time. I mean, yeah, I didn't have too many friends and I was starting to lose interest in what I liked, even life in general, but isn't that what most teenagers are supposed to feel like?
The answer: No, it isn't.
I didn't have many friends because I'd put on that mask- I naturally try to make everyone else happy to the point were I risk my own emotional wellbeing so I stuck with the people I already knew. I got it into my head that I wasn't worthy of their friendship, that no one would ever want the real me so I could never drop that facade. It didn't help that the "friends" I had were all so closed-minded and never discussed personal things. Maybe I would have been alright if I had the support of open, honest friends who really cared about me but I just didn't feel like I could broach that sort of subject matter with them.
So, I went on with the act for years. I wasn't living, I was surviving. I've been told that high school is meant to be the best years of your life; whoever said that was lying or deluded. Looking back on it from the place I'm at now, it was hell and I have no idea how I got through it- there was no one there to turn to but my mum who I'd pushed away with outbursts of misplaced anger. You see, the effort required to pretend to be happy and "okay" for days on end builds up physical pressure- you can't keep your real emotions hidden and repressed for eternity, everything eventually explodes and you hurt the ones who are really there for you.
My levels of self-esteem and confidence used to be so very high before the past five years. I was Dux of my primary school (top student) and I had a circle of brilliant friends. At the moment, those levels are still in the negative but I'm gradually starting to heal. Slowly. That's why it takes such an effort to tell anyone anything personal even though I want to let them now that I'M NOT OKAY. I want to scream it at them, I want to tell them just how much they managed to fuck up my life and exactly where they can stick their prejudices and sick opinions of what a "friend" is.
Anyway, I reached breaking point last year. I was in year 11 and still pretending. Then I got sick and my asthma decided to join in the party. After a few weeks off in the first term of the school year, I came back to find those "friends" I'd been clinging to, selling my soul and breaking my heart to please, didn't really care. There were a few superficial "Are you alright?"s and some "It's good to have you back"s but no one saw how stressed I was at the sudden load of school work, how hurt I was by their lack of concern.
I blamed myself for it, of course. I didn't deserve to be cared about because I wasn't worthy of their friendship, I wasn't good enough for them. I contemplated ending it a few times in those dark days but the small piece of my real self that was still fighting for life in my heart stopped me. I was too smart to commit suicide- I could see past the rage and despair I was feeling to the pain it would cause my family, how stupid and wasteful such an act would be.
It's almost guaranteed that everyone will think "what would happen if I died right now?" at some point in their life. Every time I thought that, it had a name attached to it; would they care if I killed myself? If you have to ask yourself that question, those friends or boyfriends or girlfriends are not worth the answer. If they've hurt you enough to make you unsure of their concern or care for you, you don't need to know the answer. As hard as it is, get yourself out- leave the fuckers behind because you're worth so much more. It's a cliche but it's truly their loss.
Later in the year, I got sick again (term 3) and everything got too much. I went back to school but couldn't stay there. I started wagging (skipping school) almost every day because I couldn't face them. I felt like I had nothing to live for; my home life was never the best, my dad's been diagnosed with borderline personality disorder/anxiety/major depressive disorder and his anger is almost always aimed at me. School was full of pretenders and backstabbers, the users and the used and I'd been so cut off from others, from society, that I had no one to turn to.
I have no idea what everyone else thought. No one asked me if I was mentally okay or stopped to take the time to talk about how I was feeling. They were too busy with school or other friends- those loud, extravagantly happy ones; you know the type. Somehow they didn't catch onto the fact that something else was going on, something more than me having a crappy immune system and overly reactive asthma.
Eventually, the school caught onto my enormous string of unexplained absences and they phoned my parents. I ended up in a meeting with one of the year coordinators which was one of the most terrifying moments of my life. I thought I was in for it, life was seriously over. I could barely face getting up in the morning, nevermind actually talking to a real person who I'd never met before about what was going on. Even I didn't know what was going on, forget my parents.
But she didn't try to kill me, she didn't shout at me, she didn't even threaten me with detention or suspension. She was so understanding and ready to listen, if it weren't for her I wouldn't be on the way to being "okay". She said I could do a year 13 if I had to, I could drop subjects, I could even drop out of school if that was what I needed. Hearing the words "drop out" stoked the embers of my old self, the unwavering confidence and determination. I would not quit, I would not fail. I'd keep going and I'd keep surviving.
I dropped chemistry that year and my attendance rate picked up like I'd glued jet engines to it but it was no where near 100% for the rest of the year. Somehow I kept going, I stayed true to myself and the promise I'd subconsciously made- I'd get through it, I'd survive. I held onto that facade of happiness I'd developed and those who'd noticed my absence or the subject I'd dropped let me fool them back into complacency. You see, I'd always been the goody-two-shoes, straight A student type, a bit of a nerd, quite in the classroom but confident in myself, so it was easy to fall back on that stereotype. If I hadn't, I would have cracked in the first week.
I had to skip sleep some nights in that last term of year 11. I was exhausted, mentally and physically, but I was managing, I was coping with the stress of schoolwork and actually having to communicate with people. I had about 30 minutes sleep for two nights in a row towards the end of the term and I was starting to hear voices when I tried to go to sleep the next morning for another 30 minute nap before school. It scared the shit out of me a bit but I got the mountain of assignments and essays out of the way before exams without having teachers screaming at me (another one of my secret fears).
No one was really any the wiser by the end of the year when I got my report with one C, two B's and two A's on it. I'd been seeing a psychologist for counseling during that term as well and I let my parents think it was working until I eventually realized that all the "how does that make you feel?" and "you need to distance yourself from your emotions" crap just wasn't the right thing for me. It got to the point were I could say exactly what my psychologist would say in response to my problems and I just told her that I didn't want to continue with the sessions.
The biggest turning point in my life came in the holidays after that school year. I finally worked up the courage to ask my mum if I could see a psychiatrist- it was a big deal for a socially-excluded 16 year old girl, believe me. I was diagnosed with depression and anxiety and put on meds which made so much difference that it's not funny. I could go out without constantly thinking about my weight or how I looked or what others were thinking! Sure, the thoughts were still there but I could push them away. I could choose to ignore them and I began to feel like life was worth living, there was something to look forward to even if I had no idea what it would be at that exact moment.
Now I'm about to complete year 12 and my final school report was five A's- the first time I've been a fully A grade student in high school. I swear that people would be amazed by the turn around from an almost school drop out to one of the top students in the year. The thing is, I still don't have the courage to tell them. There was one person I told this year, I thought she was my best friend for years, and she didn't care- No, I don't mean she accepted me as I am, etc., etc., she blatantly ignored what I'd just told her and went back to ignoring me until she needed me just a few days later. Needless to say, I decided to pick up my shit and find another group who would care about me, even a little bit- enough to actually have a conversation with me about something other than school work.
So, after so much subterfuge and hurt, here I am. My heart, soul, whatever you want to call it is starting to heal, slowly, despite the loneliness of my life at the moment. I dream about the day that I'll find someone who'll care about me enough to ask how I am. Even more so, I dream about the day that someone will find me attractive- the day that someone will tell me I'm beautiful and mean it; someone who I could trust with every little secret and dilemma plaguing my heart, who would be able to see when I'm acting, when I'm struggling to get through the day- the someone who would ignore my lame excuses and assurances, catch me by the arm or the sleeve as I'm trying to runaway to be alone and seal the cracks in my "normal and happy" act, look me in the eye and pull me into a hug ( a real one, the sort were you don't feel uncomfortable about having your arms around someone who's as tense as a statue, that type of hug were you just want to bury your face in their shoulder, hide from the world and cry) Someone to show me the sort of kindness and love I never expect anyone to show me, ever.