《Confessions of an anxiety sufferer》


 Chapter 1:Life

    I have a mental illness��


    �������� moderate anxiety disorder.


    When I was two or three years old.


    I scribbled on the wall and drew three little people holding hands and laughing.


    My mother looked at me and said to me in anger,


    "Stop drawing these useless things! It''s ugly! And you are so disobedient!"


    Then she bought a bucket of paint and came to repaint the walls.


    Since then there have been no more unpleasant patterns in the home.


    When I was in first grade, my mother took me to a clothing shop to buy clothes.


    For some reason,


    I preferred comfortable sportswear to the dresses other girls liked.


    But my mother thought that I was too unlike a girl, so my clothes went from being freely chosen to her buying them individually.


    When I was in second grade, my mother bought me a sundress.


    It was the first time I resisted so violently, crying and breaking several dishes and scratching my mother''s face. I was forced to lose my mind, and I was beaten up or locked up, but I wouldn''t wealdn''t wear it.


    In the end, it was my mother and father who, by virtue of their strength, pressed me together to change into the dress.


    The moment I got dressed, I suddenly stopped crying and just kept my head down and my face expressionless.


    "That dress is simply beautiful on my daughter, she must have stopped crying because she thought she was beautiful." Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.


    Mother thought. After that, I wore all the dresses my mother bought for me and gave her a "smile" in return.


    But as I grew up, those dresses were torn and torn by hobby knife cuts, one heavier than the other.


    In third grade, I had excitedly expressed my desire to learn the drum set.


    My mother looked at me with anticipation, so later that evening, she took me to the training facility to prepare for registration.


    As she passed one instrument classroom after another, the small sound of a piano stopped my mother in her tracks.


    Looking through the glass panel of the piano classroom, there was a teenage girl with a ponytail and a pretty face sitting at the piano, playing carefully, the evening sun shining on her body, giving her a light golden glow, making her look like a fairy.


    Then my mother calculated the cost of the piano and dragged me to take piano lessons - "I want my daughter to have the best lessons".


    I had several fights with my mother over this. But she said, "I''m doing it for your own good.""The piano is more expensive than the drum set, don''t you know?" "Girls shouldn''t learn to play the drums".


    My mother didn''t think she was doing anything wrong, and the fact that she was so strict about me playing the piano day after day for years afterwards made me forget what the drum kit was.


    My mother also forgot that my initial request to go to tuition classes was to learn drums, not piano.


    In sixth grade, because I was about to start junior high school, my mother scheduled classes as if they were during the school year, despite the fact that it was summer vacation. Seven days without a break, from 6am to 9am every day.


    In my second year, I always told my mother that I had panic attacks and headaches, and I always had trouble sleeping at night.


    However, my mother only suspected that I was trying to avoid cram school, so she didn''t take what I said seriously.


    It wasn''t until early one morning, just after I had regained consciousness, that I saw myself holding a pair of scissors to my mother''s throat.


    After which she realised the seriousness of the problem and took me to the hospital for a series of tests.


    EEG, MRI ...... checked round and spent a fortune, the and night blindness was just a vitamin A deficiency.


    Finally the doctor frowned at the test reports for half a day and sent me off for one last test. And therein lay the problem - "moderate anxiety."


    The doctor gave me a two-week leave of absence, but my mother only found it ridiculous when she heard about it.


    A second year junior high school student simply needed to study, what was there to be anxious about, and then told me to hurry up and go to school.


    In my third year of junior high school, my mother and I had our last argument.


    That day, I was holding a brochure of the Academy of Fine Arts and excitedly introducing my mother to that Academy, pleading to make it my first choice.


    Yet the mother looked at it and said cynically, "What painter becomes famous before he dies? Don''t you know that all those who study art are bad kids?"


    Without waiting for me to resist, she went to the computer and quickly volunteered for me as she herself wanted - confirming the submission.


    Then she locked the bedroom door and left me in there by myself to reflect, not thinking about my moderate anxiety either.


    People are actually very conflicted�� they do not believe that disabled people can be healthy, but believe that mental illness can heal itself.


    That day, I killed myself mentally and gave up emotionally, just study hard anyway, right, and no one would come to understand me.


    At dinner my mother let me out and I confessed my "crime" to her and promised not to argue with her next time.


    I pulled out the chair by the dining room and sat next to my brother, as I always do.


    I ate my meal with a smile on my face, but something seemed to have changed, and something didn''t.


    University. I finally took it! But along with getting into college came a suicide note from my suicide.


    "What you wanted me to do, I have now done, leave me alone."

 Chapter 2锛歍he Mothers Perspective

    I am a mother and a few weeks ago, my daughter fell to her death.


    It was ruled a suicide because the doors and windows of the hostel were intact and there were no signs of a struggle inside the house.


    The police quickly closed the case with the result of "suicide". Of course I didn''t believe it. How could a good person commit suicide for no reason? She was smart, obedient and had a tenth grade in piano, how could such a perfect person commit suicide?


    I''ve been her mother for over 20 years and know her too well! She was not someone who would kill herself.


    She was understanding.


    She loved the piano.


    She studied hard and was optimistic.


    She was always quick to make new friends.


    She had no flaws except for a bit of low self-esteem.


    So I decided to go to her bedroom to sort through her belongings and see if I could find any hints of a suspect. It wasn''t difficult, after all, the only personal items she really had were in her bedroom.


    I walked into her bedroom and looked around.


    A desk piled high with study materials.


    A single pink bed.


    A two-metre bookshelf.


    And her mobile phone on the balcony.


    There was nothing suspicious here. Thin grey, white walls, wooden floors, her single bed against the wall.


    The sheets and comforter are pink and dotted with little purple flowers - that I had carefully chosen for her ten years ago.A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    As it turned out, when I bought it back, she refused my kind offer and requested to change it to black and white.


    I thought she was being unreasonable and I angrily rejected her - I couldn''t understand at all why a little girl should like black and white, she had to like something a normal girl would like.


    Coming back to my senses, I began to continue my search.


    I went to my desk and picked the calendar up off the table, reading aloud one of the notes on it.


    Dates for big exams, dates for school events, practical assignments due ...... and the birthdays of the whole family were also marked.


    Though we never celebrate birthdays.


    I went back to the bookshelf, a two-metre high shelf positioned at the corner of the bed and the desk.


    From top to bottom, there are tutorials and world books. I have never bought her a spare book for fear that she will go off the deep end.


    I returned her library card because she had borrowed a book called "No Life, No Return", which had a strange title and was inappropriate without even looking at it.


    I moved to the bottom shelf of the world titles and I almost gasped. There were five game magazines hidden there. The magazines weren''t marked with any bookstore logo and I didn''t give pocket money because I was afraid she''d have money to learn.


    Did she borrow them from a classmate?


    No. A good person like her would definitely pay back her classmates before she killed herself.


    I skimmed through the magazines, and there was something in there again - a drawing in coloured pencil on A-4 paper, old but well preserved, showing two adults holding a small child.


    I finally remembered that it was a birthday present for her daughter when she turned five.


    I was so happy that day that I couldn''t stop hugging my daughter and telling her how happy I was.


    But a few days later, I couldn''t be happier.


    I heard from my neighbours that painting would delay her studies and would not lead to a good future. For the sake of my daughter''s future, I decided to kill the idea of her painting in the cradle.


    When I came home, my daughter was still scribbling at her desk. I immediately told her to stop and seriously told her to study hard and not to draw, and that painters, for example, had to wait until they died to become famous.


    I told her seriously that she should study hard and not draw, citing the example of the painter who will be famous only after he dies.


    I sighed, returned the painting she had given me, confiscated her drawing tools and warned her not to draw, then turned away without further explanation.


    I didn''t see the look of loss on her face.


    .........


    I panicked and put back what I had turned out.


    Went out to the balcony and picked up her phone.


    It was her first phone, only I had given it to her when it was old.


    Of course, I would never have given her the phone if it hadn''t been a real hassle to get in touch.


    Because I was convinced that something on the phone or otherwise would ruin her life, after all, there are so many kids these days who play games and waste their education.


    Dutifully, I check in every week to prevent her from getting addicted to games.


    Even though it''s her privacy.


    As luck would have it, the first time I checked, I found a cartoon drawing in her photo album, which made me very angry.


    Just as I was about to argue with her, I checked her phone again.


    She seemed to have realised her mistake.


    All that was left in the album were some questions discussed with her classmates and the music was some classic piano music.


    And there were no games to be found on the whole phone.


    It was perfect, wasn''t it? That''s what a good daughter should do.


    So I took my breath away and happily put it back in its place, silently praising my daughter in my mind for her understanding.


    There were no more problems with subsequent checks either.


    ............


    Five minutes later, the phone slowly turned on.


    The screen that opened made me freeze - it had been formatted.


    All the software was empty.


    Annoyed, I finally opened the memo.


    Two post-it notes hung at the top.


    "I''ve done everything you want me to do, so leave me alone."


    "Save some self-respect for me, will you? Spare me the probing."


    My hand shook uncomfortably.


    How could the good girl speak to me in such a tone?