She told me “Only once in my life I have been proud of you… And it seems to me that it was one time too many.” I think she is right. I have had my moment of glory. I have had it, that moment in which everything is not just sustainable, but really good. A moment of complete happiness… I wore the perfect dress and presented the graduation ceremony of high school. I had my first pair of 15 cm heels on my feet and I was graduating best of my year, with the highest score in mathematics and physics. And it was good. It was one of the only moments in my life reality was better than any fantasy I could possibly indulge in. And my parents were so proud… And I was proud, I was proud of myself.
My parents were never pushy. They believed in character, backbone, in working your hardest. They didn’t tell me what to do… They simply expected me to give my best, no matter what I wanted, no matter what I was doing. And when I stood there on that stage, getting my diploma of Mathematics-Science (8h of math) after climbing up from the depths of Human Sciences (3h of math and little perspective on the future) without anyone’s help but my own… They were proud because I was strong. Not because I had good grades, but because I was a fighter.
Now… They are disappointed. Not because I failed my education… but because I gave up. Because I’m a quitter. Because I don’t have the backbone to fight anymore. In my study, in my life,… in everything. I am a failure. They told me so. I am a failure because I don’t fight. Because I don’t give my very best to defeat my mental illness. Because I don’t care about them. Because reality doesn’t faze me anymore.
I don’t care about them. But the fact I don’t care, the knowledge I couldn’t care less… somehow makes me sad. I don’t understand it…
Chaos and Destruction, QP