Blurry reasons (Part 2)
I haven’t slept for three days now.
I haven’t told anyone. Because it doesn’t matter.
It is no big deal.
I am sweating despite it being cold.
I close my eyes, but all I can think of is how my heart is trying to keep up with my thoughts, racing as if it is a matter of life and death.
I am tired, so tired. Every goal that I missed today is haunting me. Why? Why do I have to be such a loser? Why can’t I sleep? Why can’t I eat? Why can’t I study? Why can’t I do anything that normal people do? Why can’t I like parties?
I am useless like my coach said.
I am useless and miserable.
I think about my parents of how they will react if they found out how I feel.
Guilty. All they make me feel is guilty; guilty that I am not happy.
My younger sister’s face floats in front of my eyes.
I remember the fight I heard over the phone.
I can’t leave her alone in that mess.
I switch on the Wi-Fi to find another bunch of missed calls from my parents.
Knowing I will regret this, I still call back. After a few rings, my younger sister picks up.
“Hey kiddo,” I say. “How are you?”
“I am okay. I need to go. I can’t talk. I am in the middle of a game,” she says irritably.
I can hear my parents’ loud voices in the background.
“Okay, then give the phone to Mom or Dad,” I say, disappointed.
“They are arguing right now,” she says, her casual tone bothering me. Since when did my 7-year old sister stop caring about the fights?
I am about to say something to her, but she gives the phone to Dad, so I stop myself.
“I hate your mother! This is all your fault!” He yells at me.
“My fault? How is your fight my fault?” I bite back angrily.
“Don’t take that tone with me,” he furiously says instead. “It is your fault because you wanted to go to that stupid college, instead of helping me with my shop. Kids! Such ungrateful brats they are!”
An hour or so passes. My parents are still yelling at me.
At the end, I make an excuse to get away and I finally hang up.
My suppressed anger turns into pathetic tears.
“Stop!” I order myself, feeling even angrier that I am crying. Man up.
I shut my Wi-Fi again and lie down.
I try to sleep, but all I manage to do is fall further into the endless spiral of nothingness.
The sun rises and my alarm goes off, but my eyes haven’t slept a minute.
I don’t only miss one goal today. I miss all.
The coach’s voice is sore from all the yelling, yet he doesn’t stop.
I wish I wasn’t like this.
I wish I could explain why I can’t play.
The coach wouldn’t care even if I told him.
Another day goes.
Another day nearer to death.
That is perhaps the only hope in my life, and what a twisted way of hoping it is, to wait for your life to end.
Can I wait?
I will wait.
For how long though?