step into the sun ☼ deh

xii

chapter twelve
late night thoughts
mia pov

trigger warnings: anxiety, mention of suicide

     I hate feeling left out. Of anything, really. I don't even care what it is, or who is there. Whenever I see pictures that people take a parties, I feel slightly sad for not being invited, though I'm that type of person who wouldn't go to a party in her lifetime, mostly because parties that my school get crazy.

     I guess this goes the same for whenever I see pictures of Susan and her choir friends on Instagram, or Snapchat videos taken at dance. I mean, I used to be a part of that group, but I wasn't anymore. I whenever I saw those posts on social media, I wished that I didn't quit dance or choir. I missed being a part of that. However, it felt pointless to rejoin, and the signups and auditions have already taken place. I figured the best thing for me was to study and write. However, I had recently been lacking ideas for any books.

     Nonetheless, I feel like my mind has been consumed. I've recently started to think about my mother more, and it sucks because I can't ask my dad, or even Grandma about it. Grandma, obviously, didn't want to discuss it too much, and don't want my dad to have a panic attack because of it.

Growing up, and having a parent with anxiety wasn't the best thing ever, nor was it the worst experience ever... Every once in a while, I would catch him fidgeting or looking scared, but I didn't even figure out that he had legit anxiety until I was in sixth grade. I didn't think much of it when I was younger... I figured he was just a fidgety person. I mean, from what Grandma told me, he's a lot better, than when he was in high school. I guess his career has helped him a lot, too. I mean, his job was literally helping other people with the problems he had. I mean, he's not perfect, but he's not problematic or anything like that. I turned out fine, obviously. I had to check on my dad every once in a while... I talked about this a while back, actually. I still checked his pill bottle whenever he wasn't home, and I asked him if he was okay, whenever I had a feeling that he wasn't.

This was also hard, because I didn't know what was going on in my father's mind, so I never truly knew how he was doing. I couldn't exactly just ask him, and I hadn't done too much research. Heck, I didn't even know what to research for the situation. I hoped that I was doing okay, and that my father was feeling find.

I've never actually had a mental illness, or felt like I did. I guess since my dad was a counselor, he tried to keep my mental health in-check. He always made sure that I didn't feel alone, and that I was feeling completely hopeless. He also asked me countless times if I had ever thought about suicide. I haven't, just if you were wondering. He had asked me and kept my mental health in check since I was just starting school.

I said this a while back, but I'm a pleaser. I work hard to make sure that everyone is happy. Unfortunately, my pleasing nature kind of worried my father. I guess he thought that this could lead to something bigger, but I guess his concern was to my benefit. I've never been diagnosed with any mental illnesses (and I've kept my pleasing nature hushed, though it's still present).

I have a lot of interesting childhood memories, I mean, not 100% because of mental illnesses, but just random things in general. Parts of it, were also due to the fact that I didn't have a mother, but then again... Well, I'm just going to tell you the story of my first period, because that is a prime example of what I was just talking about...

I was an early bloomer... Like, "I bought my first bra at the end of third grade" early (that's a whole other story, but I was with Grandma for the bra trips when I was younger. Now my father just gives me money for bras if I need it, but he'll sometimes come in, if he feels comfortable). Anyways, so I'm fifth grade, they didn't really teach us anything about puberty or periods until the end of the year. I started my period when I was eleven, in the middle of school, just before Martin Luther King Jr. Weekend.

I didn't know what periods were, therefore, I thought I was dying.

At one point, my friend told me that Elvis died, because he peed blood, so I thought that I was going, the same way as The King Of Rock 'N Roll. I didn't tell my teacher or anything, though. I called my Grandma, as soon as I got off the bus.

"Grandma, I'm dying..." I said.

"What?" I never knew if Grandma was taking this seriously or not, "Why is that?"

"I... peed blood..."

Grandma laughed. I mean, she laughed for a long time. I as fuming, mostly because I thought my death would come any second.

"Honey, you're not dying... I'm coming over, we need to have some girl talk..."

"Okay," I replied, confused as ever. Grandma came over with a pack of "Teenybopper Pads", as I called them, and Midol. She gave me a bit of a talk about my changing body, and she told my father st one point. I've always found it funny how my father was totally content with buying tampons, but not bras... I guess tampons are more practical that bras. I tried not to let it plague my mind too much.

I always felt like I grew up fine without a mother, at least I had Grandma, but in some instances, I wished I had one. The period ordeal would have gone easier, since Dad never really felt comfortable explaining periods to me. I mean, I'm okay with that. I got by, it's in the past. If he didn't feel comfortable with talking to me about it, then that was okay. I wanted my father to be happy. I guess being a pleaser, as I mentioned earlier, was one of the reasons why I was worried about my father. I mean, I didn't check on his anxiety because he wanted me to, I looked after him, because I felt like that was best for my father. I don't know if that counts for a pleaser or not, and frankly, I don't care. I just hope he's okay.