But what do you do when you can't trust your family to confide in you?
It's something I've been thinking about. It all started with a rather dark accident involving a family member, which involved a confession and the typical "we're your family, you should have told us sooner, and we were going to help you" speech. But... to what extent is that true?
I can't tell mother about my problems with the final project, about how I don't feel safe or comfortable around her, or about that. When I told her the first time I failed an exam... Ugh, I remember it clearly now.
It was a bright afternoon. Everyone seemed to be going about their normal lives. I was already walking home from school, head down. I knew my mother's reaction to the news would be one of displeasure. I remember it was the fifth floor, creaky wooden floors, and windows with many dark, barred windows. The sun filtered through all that foliage. I was walking very slowly. I went inside. "How did your exam go, son?" First I whispered that I got an 8/10.
†
"How much?"
††
"8/10."
††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††
"Ỳ̴̳̠o̷̭̎̒u̴̼̔͛'̷̱̿͗r̵̡̐̄ē̵̮̓ ̷̙͛̉n̸̨͐o̶̡̊̅t̵̖̲͆̀ ̴̟͉̊͑l̷̪̓͘ḙ̶͇͠a̷͓̩̍͘v̵̖̪̑͝í̵̫n̷͍͔̈́̋ḡ̶̘ ̷̛̖̾t̵̻̱̐͌h̶̙͕̓ĩ̷̧͇s̸̰͂ ̴̏̕͜r̶̟͋̂o̵̹͆̿ỏ̶̭̊m̴̖̅̚ ̷̧̣̚͠a̴̯͆ǧ̶͖ȧ̸͔̼i̷̱͆͜n̷̪̐ͅ ̶͉̥͗u̷͕̝̍͝n̶̦͛̊t̶͖̏ị̵̦͆̕l̴̮̆ ̷̢͈́̅y̶̢̓̓o̸͕͊́û̸̞̈́'̷̬͎͛̃v̴̜͍̓̀ẻ̵̫̝ ̶̣̅̆s̷̤͑ṱ̸̱̂ụ̷͕̎d̸͈͎̎i̸͓͝e̸̜̎̄d̵̜͊ ̴̝̿̈́ĕ̷͈̜͐v̷̼̈e̴̼̚r̶͓͉̔̃y̸̜̆̂ţ̴̦́͊h̶͎̺̒̂i̸͙̽̔ñ̵̤̞͊g̶̝̀"
°˖➴
°˖➴
°˖➴
°˖➴
°˖➴
°˖➴
°˖➴
°˖➴
°˖➴
Although I wasn't allowed to leave the house anywhere anyway.
˙𐃷˙
⤶
⤶
⤶
⤶
⤶
⤶
I can't tell her about it.
I get discouraged very easily. I was supposed to be trying to do another drawing to pick up some of the crap I do. Everything I do is crap. Why draw protists? Nobody's interested. It's fatalistic because there were some people who were interested. The negativity in this moment is just too strong, and I'm having trouble seeing the good things in the whole situation.
I ended up aggressively scribbling on the sketch and cursing in an unintelligible language. The drawing is ruined. And I even bought a new sketchbook for a new phase, but I've only gone back a few pages to desolate spots again.
My ribs are cold. It might be the weather. But it's also because I need warmth. I want to sleep forever again. I'm not going to try to hide the seriousness of that thought with metaphors. It's what I feel, I'm sorry.
I hate when I get discouraged. I start yawning, I fall asleep in my chair, and another day lost for whatever it was I was going to do. I don't think the Protista project went to shit in the most pathetic way. Therefore, I really don't have anything left. I'm not making any progress writing any books; all the ideas seem too big for me right away. Lots of enthusiasm, little effort. Maybe the project was a bit pointless. It contributed something, but it wasn't going to give me anything to live on.
I hate this feeling. It makes me want to go to sleep, but that means mother will find out, and she might either take it well or yell at me because that means wasting time I could dedicate to the final project. And she doesn't even know that that's gone to shit too. I don't even think I'm going to get my degree. And that doesn't depend on any religion or prayer. It's sadly endearing to see mother praying loudly in church for my final project to go through, but that doesn't depend on some higher religious entity; it depends on the fact that my mood is very unstable, lost in my imagination, and eventually tired of living only to suffer.
Hey, can I tell you something crazy? I want to talk to girl M again. It must have been six months since I cut off all contact with her. I've concluded that I'm the asshole. I didn't even have the guts to tell her I liked her a little. Therefore, all my interpretations of her were wrong. There was no reason for her to see me any other way. Anyway, seeing how pathetic I am, I'm not really worth it. But the crazy thing is, I feel like sending her a reel without context and... wait, what? Salvation?
What about (2)1(1)_11(2)-(2)1(1)-(3)1-11(1)1? It doesn't matter anymore. She became a wall to talk to, so I don't even speak to her anymore. I don't even know how I ever gave so much importance to someone who, despite making me feel seen and understood, then treated me worse than everyone else, like an NPC to be ignored for weeks. The dreaded ghosting—I understand not wanting to react for a day or two. But...
But I don't have the energy or the right to say more.
I think tomorrow will be one of the worst days of my life. I'm afraid of tomorrow, specifically the morning of that moment. It could weigh heavily on me, it depends. Mother is giving me a threatening look; I feel nervous. I stare at the computer. I want my own room. But that's impossible. I don't want to open my Wikimedia Commons; it reminds me of the little glory I thought I had. The air is threatening. I can't take it anymore. Shame—shame is what I should feel! I'm the ultimate failure and the ultimate fraud! Who the hell cares anymore what expectations I might have created when I was a kid? There are thousands better than me, what I do is irrelevant, and there will be no one left when I fall more than once! So what's the big goal?
Hey, what do you think? Should I send her something by accident? Why do I want to do that? Do I still want to find that absolute trust in someone?
I think I miss the freedom I had with dad. But it's a fact that he also asked about how I was going to finish my degree, about the master's programs I should pursue. That makes me feel stupid because, damn, at this age many have already achieved more. I'm still just a kept man, and that's part of the problem. Independence? I long for it, but I know it's not easy, and that already tires my mind. I'd say it tires me because I'm more of a creative person, but the truth is I'm not someone who spends all their time drawing; at most, I always watch anime. So I'm useless.
Hmmm, what else can I say?
I slouch a lot when I'm discouraged.
I still get cold in my ribs. Ah, that feeling that I should be doing more. Much more. I'm sorry, Dad.
I'm sorry, I'm sorry dad has to deal with someone like that. I... you don't deserve a son like me, you deserve someone more normal and capable. Someone you can truly call "yes, that's my son."
(っ- ‸ - ς)
