Day Two

Today in class J told us about how she wanted us to take initiative and raise our hands in class. She asked us why we didn’t answer her questions. They gave her a bunch of answers. I didn’t say anything though. She talked for a long time about how she wanted us to let it all go and just think and say what we thought and felt.

I don’t raise my hand in class. It seems pointless, really. I rarely raised my hand when I was still in seventh and eighth, even when I knew the answers. But thinking back I realize that I used to raise my hand in class all the time when I was in elementary. I was proud to be able to answer questions. I was proud that I had good grades and that the teachers all said I was ‘sweet’. But after I moved here all my pride, all the parts of me that were outgoing and playful and fun, disappeared. I have no idea where they went. They just…left. Yes, I used to be a bit more shy than bold anyway, but at least I wasn’t afraid to speak. I wasn’t so serious all the time. I loved to talk to new people. I was able to relax when I was with friends. I used to WANT to compete, and to win, and to show off, I LIKED it when people looked at me.

Now even when I am with great friends I am still nervous. I am afraid to completely relax. I am afraid and embarrassed when something really trivial happens, when I fall down or say something not really cool or I’m called on to answer a question in class. I get jumpy when people look at me more than once. So know I want to know–what the HELL happened to me? When did things go wrong with me? When did I change?

I CAN partially answer those questions. It started when I moved here. I was living in the poor Chinese countryside, with no friends, no one my age, no one but my older sister to talk to. No school, I was homeschooled. I just spent all day slouching around the house. And that’s when I started to shut myself up. I retreated into my own mind to escape from the horrible reality of having to stay in China, right next door to my chain-smoking alcoholic uncle, my decrepit old grandfather and my demonic bitch of an aunt–plus a whole lot of others that came over ALL THE TIME, for no reason at all. I was still hopeful though–I hoped that maybe this was all just a mistake of some sort and that, yes, we will finally go home after maybe a few more months, maybe a year, and then everything will be back to normal. I kept thinking that, believing it, lying to myself. So six months, a year, two years, two and three quarters of a year and I was STILL hoping and dreaming that this was all just temporary and that of course I will be able to leave this hellhole. But gradually I just kind of stopped thinking about these things because they were so painful to me.

A few months ago my hopes were up because I hoped that I would be able to go back to the US with my brother and sister when they came to China for a visit. I didn’t think that my father would act like such an effing bastard and almost get into a real fight with my brother. I didn’t think that he would deny me a chance to go to the US this year, because last year HE was the one who told me that I would probably get to go in the summer of 2015, if not summer of 2014. And yet the other day he was talking with his friends about how, if I studied hard, I would be able to get into a great Chinese college. Which effectually shattered every single hope I had of finally being able to leave this place.

Also, I have abandoned any hope of going back to the kind-of-introverted-but-mostly-extroverted girl I was before I left. It doesn’t seem meaningful to even TRY to be that me anymore. Why bother. I want to kill myself anyway. Maybe I will. The more I think about it, the more I believe that killing myself would be the best option, even though I was raised to think the opposite.

Funny how I have spent so long trying to comfort a bunch of depressed random people I met on random websites and now I’m the one being depressing. I’m really sorry for that, by the way. Everyone has their own problems and I can totally understand when no one wants to listen to anyone else’s. So sorry again for all the hopeless, suicidal stuff. I’ll most likely be back to the chipper me after a few weeks.

2 thoughts on “Day Two”

  1. You shouldn’t be sorry for being depressed! And I don’t mind listening (or reading, in this case :p). And I totally recognized myself in you when you wrote about not being comfortable around friends or your classmates.
    I really hope you’ll go back to “the chipper you” soon, but if you don’t: don’t think twice about writing about it!

  2. I guess that’s true. I don’t want to BURDEN anyone with my troubles though–that would be even more depressing than being sad myself. So I kind of sort of feel sorry and guilty about writing about it.

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