that moment when a teacher knows you’re dealing with stress and anxiety and depression and insomnia and that you have other classes with other coursework and that you missed a funeral that day and so are preoccupied and that you are, you know, just generally,
not
okay
and they still insist you’re just not taking things seriously enough.
well i mean, i always thought i was taking things too seriously.
you know
with the whole dear-god-how-many-things-can-one-person-be-expected-to-do-when-they-are-clearly-both-physically-and-mentally-ill-and-wanting-to-die thing.
but whatever.
my bad.
i guess i should get more serious then.
right.
except it’s not right at all because i am trying.
very hard.
it’s just not working.
just because you know your life doesn’t even remotely suck doesn’t mean it magically stops feeling like it does.
just because you don’t actually have that much on your plate, doesn’t mean you suddenly stop feeling like you’re suffocating under the mass of stuff you need to get done.
just because i’m not in tears doesn’t mean i’m fine or happy or even okay.
and most especially
just because you talk to someone and try to comfort them while they are halfway to a total breakdown, doesn’t mean you know them any better than you did before.
it just makes them feel guilty and ashamed for not being able to live up to your expectations or make you happy.
nevermind their own expectations which, by the way, are much much much higher than yours.
