The day before yesterday I wrote an email to my mother, telling her how much she hurts me when she accuses me of being ungrateful. I told her it makes me feel depressed and like a failure. I explained that if she truly thinks I am ungrateful, it’s because she doesn’t understand me. If I act like I don’t care about her money, it’s mostly because being unemployed is painful, and thinking about the value of money only reminds me of my unemployment, my financial dependence and my worthlessness. I also tried to get her to understand that I was not consciously choosing to not go to the gym and throw away all the money she spent on my subscription: I was not going because I had been unable to get organized yet and was still getting used to the college routine and the evening shift (I started college two weeks ago). But even with that letter (which, I must admit, was written with a harsh, accusatory tone) she chose not to understand. She replied with another email, quite hostile, criticizing my “lame excuses” and saying I should stop blaming her for all my problems and take responsibility for what I do instead of wallowing in self-pity.
Yesterday we barely talked. We were mad at each other all day and she only addressed me to make commands such as “wash your dishes”. That made me feel sad, misanderstood and hopless, so eventually I made the decision to let myself die by dehydration.
I didn’t have breakfast and then went with all my family for a walk in the late morning. It was a warm, sunny day. After walking for about an hour, we went to a restaurant for lunch. I had to eat: my parents would notice if I didn’t ask for anything or if I left all my food untouched. So I asked for fish fries and some water. I ate, but I did not drink. I was very thirsty by then, though.
We returned home, but I didn’t stay there for long: I went away and walked to Anne Frank’s Museum, because they had asked me to come guide a large group who had asked for a tour in English. The museum is two kilometers from home. When I arrived I had to guide the group, so I was standing and talking to them for almost two hours, hardly taking a break and drinking no water. The group seemed to understand me pretty well and they got emotional with the story (some of them even cried a little) but I managed to make them laugh with some silly jokes and it got better from then. Before they left, they thanked me very much for the tour and even kissed me goodbye 🙂
I started my way back home at five p.m. and walked the two kilometers again. I was very tired, a bit sweaty and extremely thirsty. And after guiding that group of kind and sensitive people and being thanked by all of them, I suddenly didn’t feel so useless anymore. I realized things could get better for me. And anyway, I had never really wanted to die: in most of my suicidal fantasies, I don’t end up dead; someone in my family saves me just in time. Because what I really want is for them to see my pain, to understand me, to take me seriously. And I feel a bit guilty, because I know I’m just a vain attention-seeker. But still, now I know I’m not really suicidal. When I got home I drank four full glasses of water and then got ready to go with all the family to a Paul McCartney gig.