There's one thing I never wanted to be - like my parents.
They raised me off of their mistakes, to do the opposite of what they do.
Don't do drugs.
I worked so hard for so long, only to realize... I ended up at rock bottom, just like my mom, sitting in a psychiatric ward with a dozen other suicidal teens and a diagnosis that ran in my family: bipolar on one side, ADHD on the other (don't forget the anxiety, panic disorder, and depression to top it off.) After years of succumbing to the environment of psychological neglect, I escaped to college.
It was an ... experience. But it was freeing. Until it crept in, like black water dripping through the cracks at night.
What if I get too depressed too anxious?
What if I can't make it?
What if I'm not good enough?
What if I can't do this on my own?
What if I end up all alone?
What if I end up just like my mother; dreams given up on, residing to a bed only rising for a cigarette to breathe away the depression and ignore the agoraphobia?
And then, my life became glass, and I became trapped in it, seeing the world keep moving right there inches from my face while I was stuck.
Slowly, things added weights inside my glass box, slipping it into the ocean and pulling me down, down, down.
Get a job.
Do your work.
Stay in school.
Finish your homework.
Don't miss assignments.
Don't forget family.
And make some goddamn money.
The weights grew until I was there again, at rock bottom, solving my problems with a blade until the blood-stained dollar bills ran out.
When my glass box hit the ocean floor, it broke, and I saw the last bubble of my air escape my lungs and rise. I felt my body come to rest on the sand. The water around me was heavy, pressure crushing me, and the last thought of consciousness I had was...
I can't believe I ended up here again.
Mentally ill art student just trying to make it through using sarcasm and dark humor like Bo Burnham to survive.