The second question that doctors ask when you go to the clinic is: "When did you start feeling sad?"
I don't have the answer but I also know I can't remember the last time I was happy. Trying to remember when depression starts is the same as trying to remember how the nightmares begin to begin, the more you try to remember how the nightmares begin to begin, the more you remember, the more the kine between the truth and emotion is blurred, and you only know it happened when it just finished.
When I was admitted to the hospital for the first time, taking the first depressive medicine, anti-anxiety medicine, and psychotropic medicine, the only thing I felt was right. I found an explanation for why I was always lost, I finally understood why I always cried until I fell asleep, why I was always "sick" and tired and not sick. what. I poured all my wrongdoings on depression, and the burden of being birthed was at fault. I turned around, saw the darkness around me, fell back and slept the best I have ever had.
I still remember the first time I wanted to die. The story was nothing, I had just turned seven years old, and was literally beaten to death by Mother for something I couldn't remember anymore. Lying on my side to breathe through a nostril, tears flowed through my thoughts, I saw right away: "Whether I die now or not, never have to feel like this again." I sometimes remember that night and wondered if that was normal by the seven-year-old social norm. I wanted to check it out but couldn't find any opportunity to ask the other seven-year-olds if they wanted to die. I know about death the same way I know about Santa, I simply know it. I know death is the end, the darkness. And sometimes when I'm bored playing stuff, I often lie with my eyes closed, covering my ears and holding my breath to see how it feels. The eternal end of death gave me peace, it was like excellent plan B in all cases.
When your dream is to die, you can be sure that your dream will come true, it's just a matter of sooner or later.
Every parent hits their child. It is an embarrassing truth, but it was made as a reason to avoid shame for parents themselves. The parents hit the children and then spoiled them all. Treat your children the same. Everybody's like that, but they always hope their kids are better than their friends. Teach your child a lot of things, from not bullying to listening to each other. But itchy hands, he loses a few teeth. (Not everyone is, of course, but the number isn't so small, it's so small that it can't find it.)
My parents, and maybe the parents of so many other ill-fated friends, not only live in faults but also live as if it were no fault for parents themselves. Good children are good in my opinion, ignorant children are obviously caused by the environment and their friends. My friends, not many people believe in love for the whip and were beaten by their boyfriends: "But he really loves me", they say. My friends, countless lives worrying about the looks of others and living, never love themselves because they still look into someone's family. I know it's wrong, but my friends still do it, because it's the only thing my friends know. Everyone wants to change their lives but nobody wants to change themselves.
If I talked about how I was beaten, it is true that not even mentioning the New Year's Eve, the worst Lunar New Year of my life. Besides, I forgot most of the things that mother did to me, I only remembered what mom and dad made me feel. A childhood full of struggling and sobbing, I dragged myself through each day. Being hit a hundred times, the hundredth time still hurts the same as the first time, Mother must have considered me as a lump of gold, so she trained fire. My father, my father simply did nothing. Win no reward, no penalty, no pain. My father passed my life, that's right. As a child, I liked to think I was so good at hide-and-seek games, so good that I could live my whole life without ever worrying about being caught.
I learned how to cry without making noise, just sitting still and not knowing anymore. If mother hears my cries: "What the hell did you do that you cried for?" and I will be beaten further to be given a solid reason to cry." I would wake up early in the morning, creeping to the kitchen, place a stool and pretend to take the ice tray from the fridge, so that my homeroom teacher would not suspect my swollen-eyes later on. I know how to hold my head between my legs to help prevent the dizziness if I crash on the floor too hard .I used to hide two long braids in the back of my shirt so my mother could not pull it, and always locked the balcony door after a hitting, mostly for fear of being seen by the neighbors. My mother prepared me so well in life, I was the hardest seven-year-old on earth and wherever I went on earth, I was not afraid except for going home.
Every year I grow up a little, make a little more decisions, I think of using Plan B a little more. Funnily enough, it was never such a big and painful thing that made me want to die, it was all a daily routine of little tests. The clothes came from the supermarket, it was hot, the bag was heavy, I thought, "Now I just have to lean my head back to rush for the bus." As simply as having coffee with someone and the conversation comes into a pause because nobody knew what to say, I immediately felt like jumping down a balcony. Washing the dishes, drying my hair, answering emails, going to school, going to work, going to love, everything makes me want to finish myself. Sometimes I doubt myself, sometimes I don't have to be depressed, but i simply think i'm probably the laziest person on earth.
YOU ARE READING
Lỗi - Error 404 English Translation
Não Ficção"Finally, my autobiography book, Error 404 is out, after 2 years of work. It actually took me only 6 months to write 99% of the book, but couldn't write the ending for a long, long time. I wrote a book about a child who was sexually abused, unhappy...
