My Mind On Paper

Diary Page One: Expectations

Today I wrote about my dreams for the future in my private diary. It's where I let my imagination run wild and write down any thought that pops into my head. I wrote about how passionate I was about art and classic literature and how it would be amazing for me to become an artist or writer professionally when I get older. Or even a professor.

Then I closed it, and reality set in.

Cold, hard, and fast.

I quickly reminded myself that I can't want to do that, because that is a waste of my potential. I tore out the page, but I couldn't bring myself to crumble it up, so I slipped it behind a picture frame in my room. I had to become a doctor of some sort. Sit behind a desk, or in front of someone else, solving their problems. While I try my best to hide my own.

My parents pushed their picture perfect ideals onto me. It would make them so happy to be able to brag about their oldest daughter being a big doctor.

I have to make them happy.

They'll send me away to college and let me deal with the struggles on my own, so that they can use me like a trophy. Set me on a pedestal and show me off to their friends, while I'm in another state just trying to keep from falling off the deep end.

I can't blame them. I would send myself away if I could.

Then there's my sister. The middle child. She's never shown interest in learning or any sort of academic activities, so they've learned to expect average from her, at the most.

They've always been there for her, checking up on her every hour, seeing how she is and if she needs help with anything. And I hate to admit it, but I'm so jealous of her. She gets to live care free. She doesn't have to worry about expectations, and she doesn't have to go through anything alone. I can't ask for help. They can't know that I need it.

So I push away any thoughts that might put cracks into my parents perfect glass picture that they decided is my life.

Push away any thought that something better will come.