HER MIND

Expectations

My parents had high expectations for me. Sometimes, I hoped meeting those expectations would bring me fulfillment and happiness. I wanted to succeed and make them proud. The idea of earning their approval motivated me but, simultaneously, I was afraid of not meeting their expectations. Their high standards, along with my own goals, created a lot of pressure for me to handle.

At times, I clung to the hope that fulfilling these expectations would resolve the inner conflict and lead to a sense of accomplishment and self-worth. Yet, despite this hope, the pressure remained a persistent and heavy force, overshadowing any sense of satisfaction. The struggle to balance external demands with internal desires created a complex emotional landscape, where the longing for approval and the desire for personal contentment were often at odds with each other.

In summary, while I was surrounded by love and care, my inability to extend that love to myself and the immense pressure to be perfect created a profound sense of loneliness and inadequacy. The high expectations from my parents, coupled with my hopes, added another layer to the emotional struggle, making it challenging to find a sense of peace and self-acceptance amidst the demands and aspirations.

It was never about who I was as a person; it was always about my performance and experiences at school. The focus was consistently on my academic achievements and what I was doing in that environment. It wasn't about whether I was okay or not; it was always about whether school was fine.

This constant emphasis on my school life made me feel like my personal struggles and emotional state were secondary, overshadowed by the priority placed on academic success. I felt like a failure because I would leave my room in a mess on some days, never take the time to tidy up, spend excessive hours on my phone, sleep constantly, and watch my grades slip further and further. These behaviors were outward signs of my inner turmoil, yet they were often dismissed or misunderstood.

On some days I was labeled the "lazy child," a label that stung and reinforced my sense of inadequacy. I was sorry for not being the perfect child my parents hoped for. I constantly found myself apologizing for the state of my room, for the clutter that mirrored the chaos inside my mind.

I was embarrassed by the mess because it made me realize I was unable to keep things together, I was never in control of anything in my life. Sleeping was like a coping mechanism, I slept because it was the only way to escape not because I was tired. When I was asleep, the noises, the constant doubts, and the fears faded into silence.For those few hours asleep, I could forget everything, feel absolutely nothing, and just exist in a void where the world could not reach me. It was the only time I felt free even though I felt absolutely nothing.

As harsh as it may sound, I often preferred the idea of sleeping forever to facing another day filled with self-recrimination and despair. The uncertainty of what tomorrow might bring hung over me like a heavy shadow, always there in the back of my mind. The feeling was like a dark cloud that followed me everywhere, reminding me that I did not know what was going to happen next. Each new day was a gamble, a question mark about whether it would bring more suffering or, perhaps, be the day I finally took my own life.

I couldn't guarantee that I would wake up, and the thought that tomorrow might be the day I chose to end everything was a constant, haunting presence. This made it hard for me to relax because I was always afraid I might do something bad to myself.

I was mostly sorry for being so deeply messed up as a teenager. Each apology felt like a desperate plea for forgiveness from both myself and those around me. Even though I would get shouted at by my parents, I genuinely felt that they did truly care deeply about me, and I couldn't hold it against them for not fully understanding what I was going through.

Their concern was evident, and their intentions were always rooted in love and support. Yet, despite this, there was a part of me that longed for them to ask a more personal, empathetic question when I came home exhausted. I wished they would ask, "How are you feeling?" rather than the routine inquiry of "How was school?"

This simple shift in their questioning could have provided a more meaningful connection and offered me a space to express my emotional state, rather than just report on my academic life. I was aware that I was still young, with my whole life ahead of me, but the future seemed hard to grasp and overwhelming. Most times I was unable to visualize it clearly; it felt like a blank canvas, devoid of color and definition. The uncertainty of what lay ahead, combined with the emotional exhaustion of my present state, made it difficult to see any concrete path forward. The people around me not engaging personally made me feel even more empty. It was difficult to imagine a future that seemed uncertain and out of reach. I often get asked questions like, "Where do you see yourself in 10 years?" or "Do you plan on getting married?"

These questions leave me unsure of how to respond, even though I know they're asked with good intentions. I often found myself making up answers because I couldn't imagine what my life might be like in ten years. I found it impossible to imagine my future and struggled to express any real goals or plans. The reality of my situation was profoundly unsettling. I didn't think I ever truly envisioned a future for myself, and this lack of foresight was a source of deep-seated fear and anxiety.

At an age when many people start to form ambitions and set goals for their lives, I felt paralyzed by uncertainty. The absence of a clear vision for my future made me feel like I was drifting aimlessly, with no sense of direction or purpose. I felt like I couldn't see a future for myself. This made me feel disconnected from the sense of progress that others seemed to have.