Taylor Swift Comfort Imagines

I Just Can't (Part 1?)

Taylor's sister

A/N: I know Andrea would never act like this and is probably as loving as Taylor.

TW: perfectionism, anxiety, eating disorder

My 3rd alarm goes off, filling me with a deep irritation and dread as I squeeze the side of my phone it turn it off and opt for more sleep. It's not like it matters if I go to school or not: I can attend all of my classes, take detailed notes, study for hours, and still fail. Taylor and Austin did well in school, our parents have been giving me a hard time about why I haven't. Just as I was thinking about her, my mom comes down the hallway. 

"C'mon y/n. Wake up," she says, turning on the light. I am paralyzed with anxiety and dread. I don't want to face peers who judge me, friends who exclude me, and teachers who are disappointed in me. My teachers have told me that I'm getting no where in life for forgetting deadlines or needing extra help on assignments. So I stopped asking questions. Then I get yelled at for not knowing what's going on. I feel like everyone just expects me to know what's going on. 

"I feel sick," I say. It wasn't a lie. I feel so guilty every day that I feel sick. 

"Stop trying to get out of everything you think isn't fun and go to school. You're not going to stay in bed all day, that's not productive," my mom says, showing no empathy for me in her harsh tone. She's much nicer to Taylor and Austin. I am the mistake of the family. Then again, maybe she's nicer to them because they are useful members of society. They just understood everything they learned. Sure, they both struggled with math, but I struggle with everything. 

I lay back down, turning over. 

"Y/n! I mean it! You're going to miss too much if you skip class!" she yells, knowing damn well that I've never skipped a class unless I'm really sick. I stay in bed, turning over and sobbing into my pillow. I just wanted to talk to Taylor or my best friend. 

"If you're staying home, you're helping around the house and doing SAT prep. And this is nothing to cry about," Andrea says. 

I am too exhausted to try and tell her how I really feel, because she always turns it into an argument. My whole body feels so heavy, and the guilt from my existence churns in my stomach. It feels like a stomach bug that I can't quite shake. My limbs feel heavy, like I'm tied down by the weight of my depression, like sandbags scraping the floor. 

"Here's your list," mom says, handing me a list of chores and studying to do. I take it and start doing the dishes while sobbing. My mom comes down the stair to put her plate in from breakfast, not caring or even acknowledging that I'm crying. She sighs loudly and goes back to her work. This makes me feel even worse: that my emotions are burdensome, and that everyone is too busy to comfort me or always has something more important to attend to. More important than me. A few minutes later, she comes back down. "I'm in a meeting for a few hours, and Taylor is visiting. Please make something nice and stop the crying," she says coldly. The cold in her voice bites at me like a winter breeze. I hold back tears until she's out of the room, knowing I won't be shamed or scolded for my emotions. I miss how much she loved me when I was a little kid. But then again, she'd just send me to my room instead of helping me through my emotions. 

As I study for the SAT, my frustration with myself only grows as I keep getting answers wrong. Maybe I'm just not meant for college. But, I don't have a talent like Taylor so I feel like it's my only choice. I check my watch, which says it's 4:45. I go upstairs to start on dinner, deciding to make salmon with a pesto coating and crushed up chips, potatoes and green beans, and some orzo. Taylor walks in at 5:00, looking at me like I'm the most precious thing in the world. "Hi baby! How are you? I've missed you!" She exclaims, coming over to wrap me in a tight hug. "This looks delicious! I'm so excited to have some of your food, it puts the Michelin-star restaurants to shame," Taylor says, kissing me on the cheek.