Insanely sane

-2

I woke up to the puppy licking my face, which, in a way, is the best way to wake up, but possibly not, considering the puppy had also just peed all over my bed. 

"What did you do, little one?" I petted the puppy, smiling when it was already half asleep on my stomach. Picking it up, I placed it on one of my pillows. 

You might be wondering, what is it that failed suicide attempt people may have in common? It is their pure disgust with human interaction. I wasn't an exception as I spent nearly 30 minutes debating whether I was ready to leave the room. 

Once I finally got it together after changing all of the sheets, having a little fight over the sheets with the puppy, I realized one of the pillow cases had been ripped open. I sighed, knowing what would come of this. 

Walking downstairs, I put the pillow cover straight in the trash, finding my mom in the kitchen. 

"Morning, sweety," my mom said, immediately putting down her phone that she would normally be playing bubbles on, probably was seconds ago as well. 

"Hi, mom?" I replied awkwardly, scrunching my brows. 

I was too used to only walking in the kitchen when everyone was away. In a way, you could say I am quite difficult because I like to enjoy both the company of people and complete silence. It gets incredibly frustrating if, for example, I need to spend 24 hours with people, I cherish my alone time, I need it to stay sane in a way. 

"How are you feeling?" she turned to face me on the chair, smiling at me. She only did that when something was really off with me. I guess a suicide attempt counts. 

"Mom, you don't have to ask me each morning, I would tell you if something was bothering me," I picked up some fruit and two bowls for the puppy, one for the water and food, "where is the food for the puppy? Also, I couldn't seem to find any sheets in my room. Where are they?"

"Would you really tell me?" my mom asked, completely ignoring my questions. 

Ladies and gentleman, this is the part where you convince your parents they have done everything and more than they ever could of, to make them feel good even if you're actually feeling shit. This is reverse psychology most people use - making them look as victims even if you're the one hurting. 

As I've mentioned before, my mom is not a bad or good mom, she is the best. Can best still be better? Absolutely. Everyone has flaws, parents aren't an exception and even I could get it through my thick skull that I was placing a lot of anger and resentment on to the wrong person. 

I've written suicide letters before, to put an end to the depression I was sinking deeper and deeper in to at the age of 15. Writing was always the thing I was good at, it helped me get my emotions out that I felt I just grew too used to keeping in. At that point of my life, everyone, even my mom's side of the family would blame me for things I hadn't done, just because of an adult, my dad's at the time girlfriend, had said I had done them. Who would believe the teen repeatedly causing trouble over an adult? 

Within a split  second, I replied, smiling: "of course I would."

It was a lie. I was too used to being independent and my parents were too used to me being that way as well. Telling them if I actually wasn't okay felt like the worst thing in the world. I am not saying that's the right way, because, there's no question about it - it isn't, which is why I even was in this position. Keeping things in is like putting things in a closet, it is unavoidable - eventually, you just run out of space and the door will barely close so you decide to put chains and locks around it, as the more you keep in, the harder it is to open. At one time the closet will break and it will be impossible to control. However, unlike you making that decision to open it up, this won't be up to you, it will simply happen, unplanned, impossible to prepare for. For me, it broke. Hell, it exploded. Yet I still kept making the same mistake. 

Mom looked at me, nodding, with a ghost smile on her lips as if she could tell that I was lying: "we're going to the therapist in 2 hours, make sure to be ready by then."

"I told you I don't want to!" I had a sudden outburst, anger overtaking me, " why in the world would I talk to a complete stranger if I don't talk about it with my own parents? It doesn't make any sense and I refuse to do it."

"Then what do you want me to do?" my mom shouted back, sudden tears in her eyes, "Lea, you could've died. I could have lost my daughter without even being aware of the reasons or being able to help."

I wanted to respond, yet I just stood there with my mouth open, I knew nothing I said could make it better. Mom cried very rarely and each time it broke my heart. The fixer and support system that I was used to being just wanted to help her.

She wiped her tears away, getting herself together: "we're going either you like it or not because none of us can fix this, we need some professional help."

Fix me is what she meant. I wasn't normal anymore in anyone's eyes, I had to be fixed like a broken toy Eva had played with too often. 

"Alright," I felt the guilt overtake me, "I'll give it a shot."

See? It's never just getting a glass of water or throwing some stuff out in the kitchen, it's always way more than that. That's the reason I avoid the kitchen. 

Mom smiled, almost grateful: "what about the sheets? I still don't know where they are."

"We were advised to remove things that you could potentially use to harm yourself out of your room," mom responded bluntly, making me laugh. 

"That's the dumbest thing I've heard," I sighed, "if I wanted to try and do that with sheets, surely the thought of using the ones on my bed if I didn't have any in the closet would cross my mind."

"I know," mom shrugged, smiling, "it is what it is. It's the thought that counts according to some books."

I smiled as it felt things might actually return back to normal. But then again, did I want normal? Did I do that to live through it all again? Nevertheless, this was better than nothing. Progress is still progress no matter how slowly or quickly it's made.