Depression, School, Household Chores

I am starting to enjoy school now.

Everyday I see my friends and I feel the gaiety I can’t feel at home (If I can still call it a home). Mind you, it is not my real home. My real home is in Tarlac, in the loving, even though not filling, arms of my parents.

School for me is more like a home for me here in Manila. And my friends are my family. And we are one big family. Now, subjects are getting harder and homeworks are mounting higher, my friends made it all bearable.

I feel like a house-elf. Quoted from Ronald Weasley. I do this and that inside this fortress. I do the washing of dishes to washing of soiled clothes of everyone. I am not asking for sympathy, I actually have another cousin (asides from the cousins who are the sons of my aunt, they know nothing in these chores) who lives here to study and do so much more than I do in this slaughterhouse. But nonetheless, they love him more. When he makes a mistake, they laugh it off. When I make a mistake, they snap at my head. They hate me, I can feel it. They think that I know nothing. I know a lot, but I still am going to know a lot. It is a constant process right? Everyone acquires knowledge and wisdom on the way. All the more, I guess the thing that made them think that I am stupid, know-nothing, picky, and a brat is because we, me and my family, used to live very comfortably. But they can’t seem to understand me, or maybe I don’t understand them. I do hope they realize all my efforts and see who I really am. The I that was lost in the process to fit in the picture/

I always tried my best to be loved by my relatives but they see nothing of my efforts but rather of my faults. Living under the roof of who you were supposedly to call family is a nightmare for me. I do make mistakes but I hate it when they make me feel stupid. I am stupid, I know, but not entirely as stupid as hurting as much out of a person. I am not perfect and my imperfections are too exposed to them that they would take every chance into diving on the sore spots. I hate the most when I usually read between the lines of their comments about my parents. My parents are not oaf, maybe impractical before, but not good-for-nothing. I see all the strains my parents are going through to help us. Right now, I have a lot of resentment breeding in my heart, I try to keep it in as much as possible so I won’t hurt people’s feelings. I hate the irony when I feel the responsibility to make people not get hurt as much as possible, but they get all chance of inflicting pain in me, and of all people, my relatives hurt me the most.

I go unto constant depressions. I really do. I always feel like I am on the verge of breaking up and going insane. I don’t usually confide my problem to anyone because they might think that I am weak. I am stronger than what they all think I am. I get depressed with all the problems. Nobody knows really what I am going through. No one knows specifically what I am suffering. i show a facade of happiness, but there is a turmoil inside of me, a child scared of what is going to happen next. A child who wants to be loved and not get constantly hurt.

Maybe, just maybe, when I get rich, my relatives would notice me. Maybe when I am more than what they have thought I would achieve, they would feel the pangs of my resentment. But that is it, I never hold grudges. But I am going to show them who they are stepping on right now. A toe rag into a king.