My father was lecturing me about how I was forgetful, how I couldn’t pay attention and how my concentration was lacking. I knew I had a condition called ADD, and that my family loved me, but my father didn’t have to jackhammer my flaws into my brain all the time. This happened often, and he said these things knowing full well about how badly I felt of myself. “A slow worker,” “You can’t keep up,” “You have to rely on others.” Those were all the statements he said to me. With each one it felt like my heart was being stabbed relentlessly with a three foot saber, each sentence, every word, lacerating my organs, my chest. It was dripping with my blood, as each deep crimson droplet slid down the smooth surface of the silvery blade. The
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I didn’t want help anymore, and moreover I didn’t wish to be drugged in order to be alright. I had grown tired of having medicate myself in order to live an easier life, and wanted to prove that I was strong and could handle things on my own. I had used to take medication for my concentration problem, but after a few years I had to stop taking it because I had grown a tolerance for it. My eyebrows furrowed slightly at the thought of this, and the saber appeared in front of my stomach, it’s tip a few centimeters away from me.
“If you can’t handle your issue with concentration we’ll have to go talk to the doctor again.” My father continued. The first stab. The metal lunged itself into me, stabbing through some of the wounds from last time. I internally let out a blood-curdling scream of pain. My father’s intense stare brought me back to reality. Even talking about this was already partially crossing the line for me, and I collected my thoughts.
“We don’t need to go see the doctor.” I mumbled, my currently soft-spoken voice close to being inaudible as my blue orbs were averted to the carpet.
“Stop mumbling. Look at me. What did you say?” My father asked, his voice a little louder
I didn’t want help anymore, and moreover I didn’t wish to be drugged in order to be alright. I had grown tired of having medicate myself in order to live an easier life, and wanted to prove that I was strong and could handle things on my own. I had used to take medication for my concentration problem, but after a few years I had to stop taking it because I had grown a tolerance for it. My eyebrows furrowed slightly at the thought of this, and the saber appeared in front of my stomach, it’s tip a few centimeters away from me.
“If you can’t handle your issue with concentration we’ll have to go talk to the doctor again.” My father continued. The first stab. The metal lunged itself into me, stabbing through some of the wounds from last time. I internally let out a blood-curdling scream of pain. My father’s intense stare brought me back to reality. Even talking about this was already partially crossing the line for me, and I collected my thoughts.
“We don’t need to go see the doctor.” I mumbled, my currently soft-spoken voice close to being inaudible as my blue orbs were averted to the carpet.
“Stop mumbling. Look at me. What did you say?” My father asked, his voice a little louder