The Weight of Silence Pt, 2

“Tell me when it all started,” she said. 

I slumped into the chair and closed my eyes, trying to remember it all. 
The truth is, I have always been like this. 
From the earliest moment I became aware of myself and those around me, I have always carried this feeling.
It has been this dark cloud following me, and might’ve been with me from the day I was born. 

“I can’t remember,” I mumbled. 

She paused for a moment before she said, “Okay then, take me back to your childhood.”

It feels as though my consciousness of life began around the age of seven.
It was like I finally received sight. 
I was a happy kid with a family that loved me. 
I was doing so well in school and my parents were proud.
Everyone associated me with excellence, and other parents often said they wished I were their child. 

“I was very happy, and I had so much to look forward to. I felt like I could change the world. I wanted to be a surgeon, you know.” I said. 

And that was when I started to feel the pressure.
I realized I didn’t know much about the world when I knew everything during a quiz. 
The teacher asked a general question about knowledge, and I felt blind sided. 
From then on, I spiraled. 
I pushed myself hard, and every question I did not know made me feel worthless.
That term, I came second in class, and my parents didn’t take it well. 
I was scolded and asked, “Why did you let someone else be number 1?”
I guess that’s when it all started.

To me, their love was conditional. 
Don’t get me wrong, they never changed how they treated me, but the way I was spoken to that day and how they looked at me stirred something in me. That could never be undone.
I was always on edge, second-guessing every answer, and that gave me serious anxiety.

I started to have panic attacks, and exam time was brutal. 
One day, after months of the endless circle, I broke down and told my parents about the anxiety and panic attacks, but they didn’t believe me. 
Why? 
Because I was still at the top
I was helpless, and that’s when the voices started. 
Belittling me, telling me I was a nuisance, and that everyone would be happy if I were dead.
Giving me ideas on how to kill myself. 

I stopped, and the weight of the silence in the room was heavy. 

Her gaze was piercing, as if she were trying to dissect my mind, and it felt very invasive.
Like someone touching the innermost part of myself. 
I shifted in the chair uncomfortably. 
She looked down, scribbled something in her notepad, and set it aside. 

“That’s all the time we have today,” she said as she pointed to the clock. “ We will meet at the same time next week.” 

I breathed a sigh of relief, “Saved by the bell,” I mumbled to myself. 

I walked out of the room knowing I might not be back here again.

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