Loving Lakyn | ✓

[37] I Fucked Up

L O V I N G
L A K Y N

THERE IS THIS false delusion of which took place in the late middle-ages where this concept came about, titled the glass delusion. It was an external manifestation of a psychiatric disorder recorded in Europe where people feared that they were quite literally made of glass and if they were not too careful, they would shatter into pieces.

My substitute history teacher, Mr. Donovan, was rather passionate about the topic. I found it stupid at the beginning because how can you be convinced that you are made out of a non-crystalline when thick skin sits above your bones, blood and internal organs. Glass can only contain so much, so how is it that many people feared their lives because they were so vulnerable?

The more that I researched it, the more stupendous I found the entire scenario, but that was one year ago and now I find myself forming a more deeper understanding of the subject.

Those people thought that they were made of glass because of how easily pain can be inflicted upon someone. Quite clearly, the delusion evolved with society and therefore ended up being debunked or simply just faded with age, but regardless, my mind has been racing with several thoughts since Lakyn's departure and all that I can think is that I am made of glass.

Not in the literal sense, but metaphorically. I am so fragile, so vulnerable that I fear accepting pain otherwise I will shatter. I act as though I am strong and that I do not feel and though that was once true, it is entirely false now.

Because even words, actions, lyrics, and boys can shatter you.

After ridding of my emotions after the party I felt numb and after conversing with my father about my supposed Yale acceptance letter, I thought I may as well bid my life goodbye, but it took me up until now to realize that what I am feeling is something, it is anger, sadness, grief, every depressing emotion imaginable, but the point is that I am feeling and I have been telling myself otherwise.

Depression has always been apparent in my life, always. Depression is the only constant in my miserable existence, the only thing that does not move and does not change as it is always there, sometimes more than other times and now it is here in full swing because for some incredibly rude reason, I have lost the ability to be empty and not in the sad beyond help sense, in the I truly do not feel a single ounce of emotion sense.

I have failed to achieve something that I have worked so hardly and lengthily for, for the entirety of my high school career. My father is proud of me for the first time and I think that is a strong contender as to why my non-feeling superpowers are gone. Because the man I have sought approval from for so long is finally giving me it.

It sounds unrealistic, but I quite honestly felt my cold skin becoming warm again. I felt my heartbeat again. I felt my blood rush again. 

I felt myself feel again.

It was too overwhelming and I wanted it to leave, so I came to school and reverted back to my old ways in attempts to cope with the tsunami going on in my head. 

Why?

Because I felt sad.

Sad sounds so childish, like something flimsy, something one should be able to cast off with a happy reflection or the smile of a friend. But sad is nothing of the sort. It sits inside like the germ seed of depression, just waiting for the right conditions to grow, to send out roots to choke the hope out of your heart. It is the trough in which we struggle to return to the peak, always afraid that this time the rungs will be too slippery, too far apart, or simply not there at all.