I should probably find a therapist, but now I'm stuck at home and additionally broke, I'm pretty sure therapy is expensive, and I know that my insurance covers it but then my parents would see I'm getting therapy and they don't need to know, because they probably think it's fake, my mom would for sure yell at me, because what would people think. That's what it's about for her and that people are dying all over the world or that I didn't make enough of a sacrifice to have mental problems. For her it doesn't equate, she would be angry and maybe embarrassed.
There was this girl, Halle Daniel, in the 7th grade someone made a presentation about something anti-gay and I don't know which way she oriented but she felt attacked, and after school that day she went missing. Her friends didn't know where she had run off, but whatever they said tugged at my heart, and by the time my dad picked me up I was crying. So we gathered whoever was still left at school that day and we searched the neighborhood, but after about an hour we couldn't find anything, so they said they would call the cops and my dad told me we did everything we could and he put me in the car and started to drive us home. On the drive home, in the rain, as I was staring absent-mindedly out my window, I saw her, walking on the sidewalk across the street drenched in rainwater. We picked her up and drove her to my friend's house, where we calmed her down and got her mom to pick her up.
We never knew where she was heading that day, or what her intentions we're, but people talked and the common assumption was that she was going to kill herself, maybe it's true maybe it's not but its what my dad told my mom when we got home later that day. I was distraught, still processing but when she told me she was going to my cousin's house, I hoped in the car. On the drive there she picked a fight and I told her she couldn't yell at me because one of my friends almost killed herself today. She stopped the car in the middle of the street and yelled at me for getting involved and then she told me to never speak of what happened to my cousins today or to anyone ever or get out of the car and walk home.
There was another time, me, this time. It was about math, sometime in high school I think. I hated math, god so much, and I wasn't doing well. It was to the point where if I did bad on a test (bad being anything below a 70) I would spend the day crying to my friends because of the fear I felt of telling my parents what I got. The yelling was constant and maybe they were fighting at the point to, who knows, probably. But I just wanted things to stop, I don't know what I was thinking but I knew a couple girls in my class who cut themselves and so after the fight I ran up to my bathroom and tried to do it. I don't know why really, I just needed a second to breathe and maybe not feel numb, but as I was failing to cut myself I forgot to lock my bathroom door and my dad walked in. He broke down, he thought I was trying to kill myself and then my mom found out, and while my dad was bawling his eyes, she got angry, I don't remember what she said but it was cold, that's what I remember, the anger.
I never spoke a single word about anything related to things that go through my head, my parents beg to know what's going on in my life all the time, I give them enough, a funny story here and there, but they don't know me, not really, because I don't want them too. Not if what I want the most is to keep them as far away as possible, down to maybe 5 calendar day visits a year. So why should I give them more of me, when they've already taken so much if eventually, they won't be there anymore? What's the point?
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