Lỗi - Error 404 - ENGLISH TRANSLATION - Plaaastic

Part 4

The second question that psychologists always asks is: „From when did you started to feel sad?"I don't have an answer but i also know that i don't remember the last time i was happy. Trying to remember when your depression started is like trying to remember your nightmare, the more you think the more you get lost in what is reality and what is just your imagination and in the end you just know that it happened while it just ended.

When i was hospitalised the first time, overdosing on depression pills, anti-anxiety pills, psychotropic pills the very first thing that i felt was that it was right. I've got an answer to the question as to why did i always felt so lost, in the end i understood why i always cried myself to sleep, why i was always tired and in pain when i wasn't even sick. I blamed all the wrong things about myself to depression. I turned around, saw a darkness around me, layed down and fell into the most peaceful sleep in my life.

My memory of wanting to die the first time is printed into me. It started from a small thing, i was seven years old and my mother beat me up so bad about a thing that i don't even remember about anymore. Laying on one side to breath with one nostril, tears falling making my vision and brain foggy i thought to myself: „If i died right now in this moment it would be so good because i would never have to feel this pain again." Sometimes i go back to this memory and ask myself if it's considered normal by the standart of a seven year old kid in this society? I wanted to do a research but didn't have a chance to ask any seven year old if they wanted to die. I knew about death the same way i did about Santa Claus simply because i just knew. I knew that death was the end, the darkness. So sometimes when i got bored with playing with toys i closed my eyes, covered my ears and holded my breath and imagined what it could feel like. The eternal end of death gives me peace, it's like a plan B that's always successful in any case.If your dream is to die one day you are always assured that that dream will always come true the only question is if it will come sooner or later.

Every parents beats their kids. It's an embarassing truth but it's also the reason to use to prevent from us embarassing our parents. Parents beating their kids until they are all broken and then complaining about them being bad. Treating the child like this using an excuse that every family is like this and then hoping that their child will be better than the other kids. Teaching their kid a lot of things from not bulllying smaller kids to always listen to everyone but when their hands starts to itch they will smack you. (Of course not everyone is like this but the number of no in this case is so small i wasn't even able to find it.)

My parents and many parents of other kids that are misfortune enough not only do they live wrong like this but they also live with parents that think that they never did anything wrong . If the kid is good it's because i teached him to be like that if the kid is stupid and bad the fault is their bad friends that they are hanging out and the environment that they live in. My friends, many of them believing in love getting beat up by their boyfriends are still like: „But he truly loves me." My friends, many of them worrying and looking for acceptance from other people and never able to love myself because of that thinking. They know that it's wrong but it's also the only thing that they are familiar with. Everybody hopes for a change in his life but never of changing myself.

If i were to tell you about how i was beat the description is so long that i wouldn't be able to finish the story from now till Lunar New Year ends, so many Lunar New Years happened in my life. And besides i forgot almost all the things that my mother did to me i only remember the feelings. Childhood full of struggles and tears. Even when i was beat for a hundreth time it still felt like the first time, maybe my mother imagined me as a gold statue and used fire to train herself. My father, my father simply did nothing. When i won something i got nothing, when i lost something i didn't get any beating, when i was hurt he didn't care. My father went trought his life just like that. When i was young i liked to tell myself that i was really good at hide and seek , so good that i could hide from the world and never worry about someone finding me.

I learned to cry without making any noise just sitting still without anyone knowing. If my mother heard me she would scream: „What the hell did i do for you to cry?" and then i would get another beating to have a reason to cry. Every morning i woke up early, went to the kitchen, put a chair to a fridge so i could reach a freezer, grab some ice to put on my puffy eyes so my home teacher wouldn't notice anything. I knew that i should sit and put my had inside my legs when i felt dizzy from hitting my head hard on the floor. I often tucked my ponytails into my shirt so my mother wouldn't grab them and always locked the balcony door after she put my head out once and mosrtly because to avoid any questions from neighbours. My mother prepared me for my life really well, i was the toughest seven year old, everywhere i went to i was never scared but the only expection was my home.

Every year that i grew up a little bit and had to make more important decisions my mind often wandered onto plan B. The funny thing is it was never anything big to make me want to wish for death, they were just everyday little things. Going home from a market with heavy bags on a hot day i thought to myself: „Now if i would just jump under this bus everything can end right away." Sitting in a coffee shop with someone and getting in that uncomfortable silence i would think to myself that i should just jump out from this window. Washing dishes, blowing my hair, replying to e-mail, going to school, going to work, loving someone, everything makes me want to end my life. Sometimes i got doubts about myself, maybe i don't even have depression maybe i'm just the most lazy person in the world.