Buried in the past

Wednesday

Story isn't suitable for younger than 15 y.o and sensitive people:  potencially disturbing scenes, self-destructive scenes, depressing parts, could be bad influence for younger readers, it's very similar to story "It will never be better" because they are about same period, written on similar way so you can expect similar end. Do not try anything from the story, events in the story are fiction but most of the other things aren't, eventually they belong to some other period of my life. Story doesn't glorify self-destruction, on the contrary. I hope it will help at least someone not to end up like that.

(started 29.03.2020)
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  WEDNESDAY

 It's so peacefull... Seems that my parents aren't awake yet. I know I have to be, I have things to finish before school. It's Wednesday, February, still chilly outside but not as cold as in my thoughts. Nothing gives me any sensations, nothing hits me from inside neither positively nor negatively. I thought that death of psyche is feeling an endless pain, but recently I realised that the only thing worse than that is indifference. No one reaches to my core, nothing could make me cry, nothing seems interesting to me anymore. This is death, but I am still physicaly present.

 While my parents didn't come to room I had time to take two boxes of sedatives from medicine cabinet and smaller bottle of alcohol and take them to my room. Last evening I mixed several pills and alcohol to cause any sensation, reaction of body to a sypstance that's tearing my bowel, but nothing happened. I know I have stomachache. I know, but it's not like I feel it too. That's why I knew I will probably take bigger dose or... what if I take them all? Will I die? Is there any difference between mental and psysical death? I will bring them with me in my schoolbag, maybe I'll go somewhere where I'll need them. That would really be an odd schoolbag: notebooks, books, pencils, things "for any case", letal dose of sedatives and alcohol. If we count and that razorblade that I always carry inside then it really is one odd schoolbag, but to me it didn't seem weird at all as that bag is reflection of me.

 After that was breakfast, then changing clothes, brushing my hair, one more checking of schoolbag before I go. Today I have test on musical class. I don't care. I already know that would be one more A or B in my column, one more letter that doesn't mean anything to me for a while. I am a good student, with good behavior and always present on classes... Maybe that's the problem. In our school no one notices when something happens to quiet, outdrawn students, but notice only when someone makes some small incident or skips the classes. Those students are then send to phychologist who doesn't help them at all so all of it repeats  (unless these kids eventually don't get bored by retelling of psychology lessons that are utterly objective, forgetting that job of psychologist is to subjectively approach certain problem because not every person is the same).
 Actually, I think that there they are only telling them to stop with certain action instead to deal with source of the problem that led to that action, attributing all of that to child's mischief or rebelion. Typical. Poor kids that have no better support in that tough period but they are left to these who are "doing their job" while they actually do nothing.

 During the elementary school I was sent to psychologist only once,during P.E.class, but I didn't go. Problem started when I didn't want to take my coat (or a top part of tracksuit, but I think it was a coat) because even since I panicked when I was supposed to take off some part of my clothes (I was ashamed to talk about it, a lot of times I lied that I forgot my equipment so I wouldn't be forced to stay in it), risking to listen scolding and shouting again as on the most classes. Every P. E. class for me was like waiting an execution; waiting the class- quiet agony, standing in the line- military squad, scolds and menaces- bullet to my heart, all after that till the end of class- slow loss of blood and agonizing death. It seems to me that real military squad would be way easier, at least all of that would stop right after the shot, while this is repeating all over again.