Misery

Prologue

Leaving; that word can have many different meanings. People can leave on their own, or they leave, because they were taken away from you, but that isn't leaving, is it? Well, I wouldn't be as disrespectful to say that my father left us; no, quite the contrary, he was taken from us from the man people pray to. My mother had told me that God had taken my father away, I was 9 at the time, so I was confused and had asked her if God would give him back. She then told me he had died. It wasn't until the funeral that I finally realized and accepted the fact that my father was no longer with us. I had constantly denied the fact that he was gone, thinking everyday that he would pull up in our driveway and tell us about his day at work, or I'd find him sleeping in my parents' bed, or wake up to see him having breakfast at our dining room table. In the end, I ended up giving myself false hope that he would return, and ended up with more sadness, knowing I was wrong and foolish to doubt the reality that was death.

Death had always seemed like an interesting topic, and for a, at the time, 9-year-old, it wasn't a healthy interest. I had wondered what happened to people after they died. Religion was always too confusing, each one giving a different answer, reincarnation, heaven, hell. I ended up turning to science, and just accepted that people didn't really go anywhere when they died, they were just put in the ground to rot away and be forgotten by the people claiming to remember them forever. People might call it a pessimistic view, or they could call it a realistic view, I could have cared less. It was my view, and it wasn't going to change.

By the age of 13, I was diagnosed with depression, anxiety, and insomnia. I was given medication for all of them, and found it irritable that I was given a pill to be considered normal to others around me. I found that lying about taking my medication, lying about how I felt, lying to my therapist, lying to my friends or fake friends, and living sleep deprived was the only way I saw without bothering the people around me. It worked; my family seemed to stop asking me about anything personal, my friends assumed I was happy, my therapist thought I was getting better, and I continually lied to myself, saying it was for the best, and that everything would work out.

Surprisingly enough, I did well in school. I got high grades for my teachers and classmates to praise me, calling me intelligent, or advanced for my age. A lot was expected out of me, from my teachers, classmates, and family; and that put a lot of pressure on me. Putting that much pressure on a young teen can really cause more problems, regardless of how you look at it. It might seem like a good thing for someone at a young age to have responsibilities and expectations, but it is difficult when those responsibilities are heavy and the expectations are set too high.

I knew I was going to crash one day, I was just bidding my time of knowing my life right now, in that moment was perfect for me. See, realism, I know I'm not perfect and will have a few bumps on the road in life. However, people might call it pessimism when you know about it but won't do anything to stop it from happening.

It will happen, and I won't do anything to stop it. It is something that needs to happen.