The stress of trying to live up to parents, siblings, and media expectations can be a lot for someone to handle. So when there are situations thrown into the mix, it can in turn suffocate you. This is how I feel almost everyday. I feel as though I will never amount to the expectation of my mother. When she herself was my age the expectations of her were very high, and with that in mind I would have thought that she would have been easier on me. Unfortunately, that was not the case. My father wasn’t in my life much and just recently I have given him the opportunity to return and take his place as my father. Unfortunately I don’t think that he has the ability to step up to the plate. I know everyone has their problems and whether they voice them aloud is their decision. This past week it feels as though I have went to hell and back again. I received a phone call Sunday morning from my sister. I was then told that my cousin’s son was not my cousin at all. When in reality he was really my brother. She admitted that my dad was the father of her son, and while I was mortified at the thought, I was also extremely hurt. This was only the beginning of my worries. Late Monday night, I received a call from my cousin and explained to me that my father was threatening to commit suicide. Of course I rushed to his house to try to talk him out of it. While i was mad at him, and as I told him later, that no matter how much I wanted to hate him I just possibly couldn’t. No one, not myself, my mom, or God could change the fact that he was still my dad. We talked for a few hours, and while we talked I just felt more hurt. He told me that there was no point in living because no one would care. Unfortunately this thought would stick with me for a while. On Wednesday night I got a call from my mom. She explained to me that she was putting my dog down, because he had been having seizures all day. As much as I understood why she had to do this, what I didn’t and still don’t understand is the fact that she decided to make the appointment for the next morning. At 10am. When she knew I worked at 9am and that it was not possible to switch shifts this late. After all this happened in just 4 short days my mind, and body, physical and mental just felt drained. I felt empty. That nothing matter. As a result of this I needed to do something to make me feel alive. Regrettably I made a bad decision. I dragged the glass across my wrist. Now this isn’t something I do often per se, but when the going gets tough it feels as though it’s the only thing I can do. I don’t know why I do it, it could be the pain/pleasure, seeing the blood that courses through my veins, it could be for some deeper rooted meaning, or it could be a cry for help that I just can’t voice. It could be all of the reasons.
Who really knows? Cause I don't.
