Misunderstood

‘Alright, here goes’, I said under my breath as I held the blade over my left wrist. My hand was shaking and I wiped sweat off my face as I took a deep breath and repositioned the blade over the wrist. I glanced at the clock. 8:13 pm. I had been standing there for fifteen minutes now. I raised my eyes and met a red, swollen and scared pair in the mirror. My skin glistened with sweat and tears, my lips quivered slightly and my hair was all over the place. It’s strange how you can look in the mirror sometimes and not recognize the person staring right back at you. I looked in the mirror some more, shook my head slightly and loosened the grip around the blade and let it fall to the ground. Immediately, my knees started shaking and I lowered them to the ground, buried my head in my hands and cried, yet again.

I went downstairs at 9:00pm for dinner, to be greeted by my family at the dining table, absorbed in some stupid reality show as every other night. I looked over at my dad, who smiled at me. I looked at him blankly and tried to comprehend how he could act so normal after what happened today. My mom laughed at something and asked me for another helping, which I declined, not even bothering to look up. I ate and went upstairs, rage boiling up inside my chest as I looked at my books, lay on my bed and let tears flow in frustration. It was getting harder to leave my bed as each day passed.

I woke up in the middle of the night with a dull ache in my chest. This was not unusual. I sat up, looked around, rubbed my chest lightly and began to cry again, burying my face in my hands once more. I had a dream wherein my mom woke me up during the night and asked me to come downstairs, where I saw my dad on the couch beside her and my little sister near the doorway. I asked what was happening, and my mother started yelling at me. She screamed the most awful things about how much of a disappointment I was and how much she hated me. She screamed at me to not show me her face again and how much she regretted having me. My dad simply nodded his head in agreement and folded his legs. I yelled back, saying that I didn’t care and looked over at my sister, who looked at me with repulsion. I had a funny feeling in my stomach and a dull ache in my chest as I ran back to my room upstairs and buried myself beneath the bed cover, after which I awoke, feeling the exact same way. The only way I knew that that was a dream was because it had been happening to me for a while now, with even worse nightmares sometimes, which were extremely hard to distinguish from reality.

I woke late up the next morning as usual, to find the house empty. I had a very strong desire to harm myself and end it all again. It was so strong, in fact, that it scared me a bit. The only reason I wouldn’t do it was because of how much distress it would cause to my family. Also, I was a bit scared.

This began with my parents convincing me to study to become a lawyer, just like them. I knew from the start that I wanted to become an astronaut, but they convinced me somehow. Although I would never admit it to anyone, but my biggest fear in life was to disappoint my parents. I studied very hard for six months and got good grades in tests a well, but slowly, whatever interest I had managed to concoct began to fade, till I simply couldn’t bring myself to study that anymore. I don’t understand how that happened, but it did. I looked longingly at my astronomy books and every glance at the stars made my heart pine for them. I had always been a smart kid with good grades and astronomy was the love of my life. If only my parents understood that. They simply refused to try.

I knew that they were good people in general and only wanted what they thought was the best for me. I told myself that a million times, but soon enough, it got harder and harder to see things that way. My grades began to fall and so did my optimism and happiness in general. I was now at a point where simple things like picking up a book or a pillow seemed to take way too much energy and I slept for more than 15 hours a day and still felt extremely tired. All the zeal and vigour seemed to have been sucked out of my life and I finally understood why people took their own lives. Earlier, it seemed like such a foolish thing to do and I had heard people calling them cowards. But now, I finally understood, and it made sense.

Sometimes, I would be sitting and studying and tears would suddenly start falling down my cheeks and onto the books. It would sometimes become hard to breathe and that would continue for hours. I would sometimes lie on my bed and stare at the clock, convincing myself to get up after five minutes. But I would then realise that I simply didn’t have the strength to get up. I would keep on staring at the clock, watch as time passed by, and resented myself. I would manage to sit up, only to be overcome by a wave of exhaustion and fall right back. I couldn’t understand how my parents hadn’t noticed that. I overheard them one night, when I had finally gathered the courage to study again and had gone downstairs to grab a book. My mom was sobbing and staying stuff to my dad. I didn’t mean to sneak up on them like that but I couldn’t help it, especially after I heard her say my name. I stood in silence outside the door as I heard her say how disappointed she was in me and how hard I was making things for her by not giving my best. This was followed by my dad saying that I was ‘a fake’. I couldn’t wrap my mind around that and left immediately, not wanting to hear more. I was in shock and didn’t cry, but that hurt like hell.

In the following weeks, I tried really, really hard and got my grades up again. I was also extremely nice to them. Honestly, it was hard to look at them in the eyes anymore, but I did it anyway. After a good while, I started to drain out again, tried to fix it, but felt ridiculously helpless, and well, here I was.

I knew that I was severely depressed and needed help. I told my parents about how I simply couldn’t do this anymore, with a heavy heart, but they chose to ignore this and said that it was only an excuse. I started to eat more and more and started gaining weight. I couldn’t join a gym because I didn’t have the energy anymore. I told them one day that I wanted to kill myself and they got really angry. So I started to joke about death as some sort of coping mechanism. They didn’t like it, but I told them that I was just joking. Slowly, I realised that I meant everything that I ‘joked.’

They simply wouldn’t understand. I knew that it was my fault as well. I agreed in the beginning to go along. I didn’t have the courage to tell them the truth then, and now. They still knew how much I loved astronomy. Slowly, I began to lose hope entirely. My life was miserable, and I tormented myself with thoughts of how it could be so much worse, with starving and homeless people all around. That made me even sadder, for I had always thought about helping them one day, but if things went like this, I wouldn’t even be able to help myself.

My parents genuinely didn’t seem to understand anything. Every time I tried to talk, they would blame me for other random things, and make me feel much worse. I felt helpless and extremely sad to have let them down. I always ended up yelling back at them and staying away, only to meet them again in my nightmares. I couldn’t understand how neglected mental health truly was and how oblivious people were to another’s plight. People really need to be helped and we need to acknowledge this pronto.

That night, I finally did it. I told my parents and sister that I was sorry and I loved them. That night, I became another ‘coward’. Another stupid, selfish kid who didn’t care about his family. That night, as blood filled the floor of my bathroom, I screamed for my parents. I screamed for them because I realised that even though it wasn’t my fault, it was also not fair.

 I was not ready, and it was too late.