the last straw

Telling

Sierra POV

Well, today is the day. I finally tell my parents how I've been feeling. How have I been felling, you ask? Like i don't matter. Like everything I do is pointless. Like I don't want to live anymore. Well, maybe I should I keep that last part out. That's not the only part I'll be keeping out.

See, the thing is... I cut myself. Not because I want to, but because I have no other way of getting these emotions out.

I get yelled at? Cut. I do bad on a test? Cut. I say the wrong thing, and am forced to think about it for the rest of that day? Cut. I- well, you get the point. I do this whenever things don't go my way. But not in a brattish way! I'm not a brat. I just- well, I don't know. I feel like im ramblimg. Back to what I was saying.

Telling my parents.

I had thought about doing this for so long. I've wanted to tell them for months, but always chickened out.

I've decided to tell them after dinner, right before I go to bed.

*time skip to after dinner*

I gather all my courage and say to my mom, well stepmom:
"Mom, can I talk with you and dad? It's important and I really need to tell someone."
She looked at me concerned, and said:
"Of course. Is everything okay?"
I give a weak smile, and say "it will be."

*time skip, again lol*

So here we are. All three of us in my parents room, sitting on the bed. The bed had white sheets, and five pillows. Mom always kept the bed perfectly made, and would straighten out any wrinkles in it, sometimes unconsciously.

It was silent for about 2 minutes before dad broke the silence.
"Well, Sierra, you called us in here. Whatever you're going to say won't change what we think of you, if that's what your scared of." He said with a chuckle. I crack a small smile, then sigh.
"Well, I called you in here because I've wanted to tell someone since the first time I thought these thoughts."
Mom looks up, scared of what I might say.
I continue, looking down. "I've been feeling really out of it lately. I can't seem to find joy in anything. It is a battle to get up in the morning. Not because I'm tired, or sleepy, but because I don't have motivation anymore. I don't want to do anything... I don't want to live anymore." I whispered the last sentence. I couldn't bring myself to bring up me cutting myself. Maybe in a few weeks.
It was silent for about 10 seconds.
Then, my dad hugged me. We hug every night before bed, but this hug felt different. It felt like more of a "I love you, and I'm here for you," than a "this is apart of routine" hug.
When we broke the hug, I saw his tears. Dad never cried. He then went on to tell me about how his side of the family had mental health issues. My grandma, his mom, had psychosis, and her mom battled depression, with the depression eventually winning in the end. My dad was unaffected by the genetic trend, but lucky me, I ended up with it.

I was so scared of looking at my mom. I didn't know what she was thinking. She was mostly the reason why I stalled telling them. Too many questions around her reaction. Would she be mad at me? Would she not believe me? Would she say I had nothing to be sad about?

I was too scared to look at her. After dad finished, he said that I could always talk to him, and that he and mom would talk about what to do. I walked out before mom could say anything to me.

I guess it was a success? I mean, I told them. What else did i want?