The Day I Stopped Hating Myself

Chapter 3 - The Old Acquaintences

I wrinkle my nose as the stinking metro smell greets me. Sam and Maja are being picked up by their mother, so today it's just me.

It's Wednesday. The third day at my new school is over, and I'm feeling alright. Not better than before, but also not worse.

I know that teenagers are known for having mood swings, but I can't remember the last time I felt a real emotion. Last year was just about making him happy and obeying his orders. I completely forgot what it was like to think of myself and about what I'm feeling. My wishes had no importance anymore. Then, the last couple of months, it was the contrary. The therapists and my parents wanted me to think of me and my emotions all the time. Suddenly, my life solely consisted about me having to talk about what I was thinking, feeling, wanting. Talking, talking, and talking.

The thing was, at that point, I wasn't thinking or feeling anything anymore. So I didn't have anything to say.

The therapists and my parents thought I wasn't opening up about myself because the time with him had given me trust issues. I didn't bother correcting them and continued to let them think they knew what they were talking about. The therapists diagnosed me with some fancy mental disease and my parents paid them a shit load of money for giving my behavior a name.

I don't really understand why adults try to solve our problems. They can't. They don't understand us. Adults from nowadays grew up in another world, in a world where there was no economic crisis, where the EU wasn't blamed for every single issue and most importantly, when Islamism didn't exist yet. They have no freaking clue what it's like to grow up as a post-millennial.

Anyways, lately my life has just been feeling like I'm going through the motions. But at least, no one here knows what I did. No one judges me. So I guess it is better than back in Nice.

Sighing, I step into the metro. It's pretty full, as most pupils are going home now. I start to look around to find anyone I know from school I can sit with (I have made some other friends in my classes today) but sadly, the wagon is only filled with unfamiliar faces.

Looks like it's going to be just me and my music, then. I sigh. I don't like to be alone. The memories come back, and I've been trying so hard to chase them away lately. The therapists say they'll only leave if I accept them, but how I am supposed to accept the monster I became last year?

With closed eyes, I lean my head on the cold train widow and try to imagine a place that's better than here, a place where I am happy, but I can't. All I see is darkness.

When have I ever been happy?

As a child of course, but that doesn't count. Children are ignorant. Ignorance means happiness, always.

Am I too young to know what happiness means? Or too old? Is it impossible for me to be happy, because I know too much and I've seen too much?

I. Need. To. Stop. Thinking.

I bang at my head against the window, hoping it'll make me feel less confused somehow, and I immediately regret it when my head starts to pound. Wincing, I rub it in one hand while I open my eyes to see how far I still am from my stop. Sighing, I realize I still have 10 minutes to go.

I decide to observe the passengers. Kind of creepy, but at least I won't have to think about myself for a while. Besides, I love to imagine what kind of life these people have.

While judging others seems to be man's favorite activity, no one can actually know what's going on in another person's life by just looking at them.