A letter

A diary entry from tenth grade… It reflects the reality of me homeschooling. Totally unedited. It was one of my darkest times, but at the same time I could truly be authentic.


Dear Judgemental Therapists

First of all, let me tell you that the main reason I’m doing this is because my mom wouldn’t let me see a therapist. She thinks they’re addicting and absolutely overrated. For what? Listening to me when I ugly cry with all my might and swearing and snorting and pouring out my feelings? Honestly, right now, I feel like the only person who wouldn’t judge me is the person being paid not to.

Yet I’m writing a totally public post for you little judgemental freaks…. All Hail Saint Hypocrite! I am quite an extreme person: I either go all out or do nothing at all. So today, you guys are my makeshift therapists. Judge me…

For the past few months I’ve been homeschooling, I’ve not been feeling all right. I’ve gotten myself into a vicious circle and I can’t get out. Every time I try to do work, I really can’t. I feel the allure of Buzz Feed posts and obscenely priced fashion labels pulling me into their realm. “Five minutes, “ I say, for the next two hours, feeling absolutely at ease with myself. Then cue the guilt.

The thing with me, is that I love working. I loved the satisfaction that comes with hard work and how the stress pushes me to do my best, making the final result something to be proud of. For some reason though, I think I’m addicted to not working. The moment I start a break, it loops into an infinity. It feels like a drug to me, as it suffocates me, and racks me up with so much guilt that I end up hating myself. I already have huge issues with my appearance, and the lack of productivity just makes me feel stupid, and scared to start working, in fear of the fact that I wouldn’t be as good as I was before. I feel worthless of love, worthless of friendship. Worst of all, I feel invisible, with the only person who can see the Invisible Saint Hypocrite being me, and I only see a bettered down, addicted, lazy, hideous, stupid girl.

Sometimes I just forget it all. Try not to think of the untouched mess crying out for me at my desk, and somehow, I’m happy. I bust out my most embarrassing dance moves, imprinted into History through my sister’s recordings, and hop and prance and annoy the shit out of the world because they aren’t brave enough to embarrass themselves the way I do. The truth is however, that I’m still not okay. That battered girl is still in there, except now, the spotlight is stolen by a silly girl with no inhibitions, a silly girl who is happy.

The battered one comes back though, and it’s worse than ever. The guilt, oh the guilt. By now, I think my brain has built itself a prison far more secure than Azkaban, because I really can’t escape. I yell at myself, jeer at me, and tell myself that there’s no way out. It’s a trap. A cruel trap set by me and I can’t get out.

I’m really not okay. I’m probably bipolar, delusional, or just a teenaged girl who’s been left alone for too long. A lonely girl. But I know that so many people in this world feel so much worse right now, and maybe they’re the ones fervently protesting when their moms drag them to see a therapist. It’s not okay, it might be someday but it isn’t right now. For me, my therapy is being funny in an awfully self depreciating way that every else finds disturbing. I bust out those crazy dance moves because they’re hilarious! They make me laugh.

Sometimes I fear that if I fog the mirror up too much, then by the time it clears up I’d have turned into a monster.

Thinking about it now, I’m scared, but I know that a stranger would totally laugh if they heard that now, and I get why it’s hilarious, so I laugh, and when I do, I’m reminded that tomorrow, I can change. Tomorrow, I might not get sued for calling myself a Saint(read as a cheap attempt at humour). Tomorrow, I might actually get some work done. I feel hope. I think that if any of you non existent readers are going through something similar, better or worse, then just remember that you are with you till the end, like an annoying roommate that steals all the chocolate and doesn’t clean the room, yet never leaves. Eventually you’ll need to learn to live and work with that roommate. While my happy escape is self depreciation, yours might be different. Just remember to recognize the escape when you see it, and hold on to it like it’s that one chocolate your roommate didn’t steal.

You can stop judging now.

Love,

Invisible Saint Hypocrite (calling myself that until I get sued :) )