Spiraling Everywhere in The Troubled Mind of a Helpless Teen

I am still unsure in how I feel. All my emotions are tangled everywhere. I am trying my hardest to repress it and control myself, but it is getting more difficult by each passing minute. This probably and effect of not speaking with my therapist for a long while. Then again, I never seem to get everything out that I need to in our allotted hour together.

It comes every now and then, the reminder that Papa is gone. It hits me, over and over again, that I am never going to see him. Somehow, I have worked myself into a state of belief that he is on a trip. Or working. That he will walk through the door and laugh and smile with us. But he will not. That is not how life works. I can hardly type. He is not going to see the mural on my wall, or the new best times I achieve in swim. He is not going to be there when I graduate high school, or tell me stories from when he was young. I am not going to play board games with him at the dinner table on New Year’s Eve until midnight, or learn how to make Lamb Stew. He is gone. And these waves keep crashing hard.

My head is torn between feeling comfortable with friends, while still living with the constant anxiety of every little thing, and knowing I am the backup, an existence floating around the edges of activity. I do not understand why I am like this, or why the people I am closest with leave me so soon. I would ask, but of course, the overthinking impacts of anxiety (and maybe wishful thinking?) prohibit that.

Then there is dismissal by parents, primarily my mother. Mom never really listens to what I have to share, always absorbed by her phone, and when she does, it is with such disinterest that I wish she had not looked at me at all. I have been trying to share things for so long now, and I do not know why I keep trying. Nothing is changing, and I should not expect it to. At least Dad tries a little harder, but most of the time it is the same reactions as Mom. When he does listen, he laughs with an expression of ‘ooooookaaayyy.’ I laugh with him, but I still am affected by it. I cannot share anything with my parents without being written off as too young to have opinions or getting yelled at. It is worse that I cannot work through all of the gender issues and dysphoria with them. I have friends’ support, but it is not the same as parental support. I am trying to figure myself out without the constant assurance of a parent.

Here is where I get terrifyingly different from my normal self. I am a bit scared to have this out and open to the public, but I need to get it out somewhere since I never get around to it with my therapist. I have mentioned before the dislike of my younger brother. It goes way beyond that. I cannot stand its existence. Merely writing about it makes my blood boil and my insides turn and I want to scream bloody murder. It is that bad. And I hate myself even more for it. As far as I can see, it has done nothing that normal brothers should not, but I cannot deal with it. It is a terrible thing. The world’s worst possession. It has disgustingly squishy, white, freckled skin, and absolutely no knowledge of how to eat with its mouth closed. I honestly could not say anymore because I do not know any more. I do not look anywhere near the thing and limit any interaction as much as possible. I hole up in my room most of everyday just so I do not blow up. I am yelled at for ignoring its existence, but parents do not understand, and they would not take the time to either. So I take the lectures and screams. It keeps me out of legal trouble. Yes. Legal trouble. It terrifies me to acknowledge this, but that thing brings up homicidal thoughts. Having it near me makes me want to scream and tear everything in a miles’ radius to shreds. This is why I need music for every car ride. I need it pounding in my ears and throbbing through my head, blocking everything out. I want to rip myself apart from the inside out instead of having to put up with all of the unexplained rage.

I really need to talk with my therapist about this more because I need help. I would never think this way with anything else. Sure, I get angry, but this is insanity. I need a solution. I need to be fixed. I am a problem. A mess. An error. And it need to be solved. I keep excluding myself from family outings and events. Even everyday activities. My life is my room right now. Maybe it is why I feel so desperate to get out of this house. To grow up and get away. To rid myself of this life and move on independently the way I need.

I need to wrap this up because I can no longer breathe at the moment. My chest is too tight.