Diary of a schizophrenic

Entry Two

4.9.2013

Dear Diary,

My mothers’ voice chimed through the house as she made her way down the mahogany stairs.

‘’Sweetheart are you ready?’’ her question was directed at me since my father had been stuffing the car trunk for the past thirty minutes –trying to figure out an effortless way to manage everything inside.

No, of course I’m not ready, mother. I’m leaving home for good, I need a minute.

‘’I’m ready’’ I replied. Not a minute, I guess.

Both my parents were shaken up about this. They tried their best to look happy, putting up a façade of creepy smiling and hugging and comforting comments wasn’t their best act. Like any other parent they had to live through the day their little offspring is leaving for college, talk about hard times.

My mother had –of course- started crying when we arrived in front of the Uni. On the whole ride she had been recalling my childhood memories. Luckily I was no stupid kid. Sure I had my ups and downs but embarrassing moments were content.

As much as I loved my parents, like any other teenager –maybe slightly more- I was happy to be on my own two feet. Alone. I could finally be myself without the prying eyes and constant look out for any slips in my condition. I have finally regained the trust of my parents and didn’t dare lose it again.

After my parents helped me carry my stuff into my dorm room, I ushered them out and began unpacking. Three boxes contained eighteen years of life. Three.

Now if that’s not embarrassing, I don’t know what it. Even better, one was stuffed with clothes and the other with books. Long behold –queen of all loners.

Just as much you think I like to isolate myself, I’m not that anti-social. If by social you mean going out to places people are present -not interacting with them but just being around them was my epitome of social.  And so I began my journey to the main office where upon I would try and find my schedule for the upcoming lessons. I was met there by a sweet middle-aged lady with bright strawberry-blonde hair and puffy pink cheeks. She was the main secretary who swiftly explained to me everything I needed to know. She even showed me where some of my classes are being held at. As a return for her loveliness I tried to be as polite as possible. I am not known for being nice and tolerant, mainly because I would ignore people and speak my mind ever so openly.

But I'm still trying to hang on to the pieces of lady-like-likelihood-ness my mother tried to tape on me since I was six. Right now, I’m sitting in my dorm room, on a cold mint-painted wooden chair next to the open window. It’s nearly midnight and the breeze is tousling the loose strands of my hair that had fallen out of the messy bun I didn’t bother fixing from this morning. I loved this part of the day -when it wasn’t too hot to sweat nor too cold to wear a jacket. I have a good overview of the campus. There are still people walking around the tree-packed park underneath my window. Some are making out on the benches and I feel weird staring at them but I can’t seem to be able to look away. They seem so intensely in love. It interests me.

I find myself often thinking about love. Whether I’ll be able to ever love someone so much it hurts. It was hard for me to believe anything like that existed if I hadn’t witnessed it so many times. Not only in lovesick teenagers but in adults, in parents –in my parents.

That thought scared me. The thought of love.

Enough of this sappy bullshit, I need my sleep since classes are early tomorrow and I’m exhausted from all the thinking and moving and my parents whining. I can see the park slowly clearing up since curfew is about to hit. My bed looks foreign and distant even with my covers on it. I didn’t bring much to decorate my room, only necessities. A plain white wood picture frame merely decorated my lonely bedside table. It was a picture of my parents sitting on the hood of a car –dads arm hanging lazily around my moms’ shoulders, her cheeks are flushed crimson as they both smile brightly for the camera. It was taken twenty-five years ago when they were still in college and first started dating. I had stolen it since it is, by far, my favorite picture to ever be taken.