My entire life, my parents have been pushing me to be the best. Get all A’s. Nothing under a 92. You got in trouble at school today? 100 lines. You forgot to turn in the form? Well, no video games for the whole weekend. I’m a good student because of it, yes, and generally well-behaved, but my mental health is suffering. I hate myself. Nothing is ever good enough. I don’t deserve my friends, I don’t deserve free time, I don’t even deserve a single fucking piece of cake, because I have to watch my diet even though I’m skinny as hell. My parents put so much pressure on me all the time, and I think I’ve cracked.
I have no motivation anymore except for fear. Of losing my free time, of losing the one thing that’s keeping me sane. Fear of being lectured for hours and hours and hours while I have a science assignment due, and then getting in trouble for not doing said assignment. I tell my parents that I couldn’t talk to my teacher because he was out, when in reality I was shaking too much to stand. I tell her that I have extra homework, when I actually hadn’t done my homework for the past five weeks because I felt too tired to do it and had to catch up all at once. I know I should tell them, I should get help for this, but a part of me feels like they’ll say I’m ‘making excuses for being lazy’. I’m not lazy; I can’t bring myself to do anything except write stupid little stories or play video games. I feel like I’ve failed, and that I’m a bad person for quietly suffering and letting my grades plummet and my friendships rot and hating myself. I hate it.
Worse yet, even things that aren’t bad to other people are the worst for me. If I get a B, I basically failed. If I’m not perfect for my teachers, I failed. If I forget to turn things in because I spend so much time worrying about assignments I missed and things I said and wrong answers I gave that I can barely remember anything, then I failed. It’s becoming a challenge to make it through the day, now, and I feel more and more like someday I’m going to hurt myself, or have an anxiety attack in front of everyone, and then I’ll be the girl that threw up in the lockerroom. It’s impossible.
I hate myself, and I hate my friends, and I hate my life, and I just want to be able to control some things for myself and know it’s okay to fail sometimes. But I can’t help it.
You can know, though, that I’m not going to give my sadness the satisfaction of killing me off. Even when everything seems dark, I’ll try and remember that things do get better. I just wish that it would get better sooner. I don’t know what to do anymore.