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This?
“This? This shit? It doesn’t make you who you are. You have to BE someone first!”
Greta gritted her teeth, placing all of her energy into swallowing the biting words trying to escape her lips. She probably looked constipated.
Her sister just continued to stare at her expectantly. Her [claws] hands curled around her hips. Her shaggy, blonde hair hung limply just above her shoulders. Her head was cocked at a demeaning angle.
The worst part was, Cleo almost definitely thought that she was being helpful. That once Greta got over this ‘snit’, she should drop to her knees and thank her older sister for this astute observation.
No fucking shit, Greta’s job wasn’t what made her a human! She was fucking aware! Painfully so!
What Cleo, in all her assumed wisdom, failed to acknowledge, was the broken human her younger sister was outside of the working week. God, YEARS of therapy. YEARS of Greta being complimented by every mental health professional she’d ever worked with, on her ‘emotional intelligence.’ YEARS of being painfully aware of every single toxic and unhealthy behaviour she displayed in her life… Greta knew exactly who she was as a human! She was an insecure, mentally fucked, over-achieving person who pushed or scared away anyone who dared to get close! She was SO aware of who she was as a human, that she turned to vices and throwing herself into her career to just COPE with having to live every single fucking day as Greta Kolley.
…Just as fast as the all-consuming rage had risen, Greta felt it all fall away into lonely despair. She knew Cleo was just trying to help. The despair was now being paired with a growing sense of guilt as she looked closer at her older sister’s face and recognised the utter exhaustion and desperation that came with feeling responsible for such a basketcase as herself.
Greta curled her shoulders inwards in shame as Cleo sighed.
“Greta, I - “ her sister sighed again. “I just, I watch you throw yourself into your work. You talk about nothing but it Monday through Friday. And then I watch as you fall apart on the weekends, like you’ve stopped trying to exist, and pull yourself back together just in time for Monday morning…”
Holy shit, Cleo looked on the verge of tears. Guilt ate away even larger bites of Greta’s insides. Now she’d made her older sister cry. Great.
“It’s not healthy, Greta!”
Understatement of the century.
“It’s not sustainable! And you don’t deserve to throw your life away like this! You’re twenty three! And you’re living your life like it’s already over!”
Fuck, now Greta was crying. These words weren’t new - they were practically lyrics to the lullabye she whispered to herself at night when trying to convince herself she was worthy of sleep. It was a whole new experience to hear it from someone else, though.
Greta felt exposed. Raw. She was so used to being told how well she was working/coping/going. She was so used to her overzealous and EXHAUSTING efforts to achieve well and have her personal nonsense go unnoticed. So used to being complimented on surface level behaviours, without anyone actually acknowledging the anxious, depressed, and suicidal mental thought processes working overtime behind the scenes to drive and maintain these illusions.
After twenty-three isolated years of being stuck within her mind as a mere spectator - Greta felt seen.
It was terrifying.
So conditioned to the thought that she was not, and never had been, someone worth sticking around for, this exposure came with pain. Being seen, and having the instant, threatening feeling that one day soon, Cleo was going to leave her lonely again.
Everyone always left.
Sure, usually because Greta scared or pushed them away, or ghosted them until they did so, but it was an all-too-familiar dance. She was a self-fulfilling prophecy of loneliness. And she had no-one but herself to blame… She’d be lying if she said it was all selfish, though. Again, Little Miss ‘so emotionally intelligent’ was painfully aware of her many, MANY flaws. She knew, without a doubt, that if it were possible, she’d abandon herself and never look back.
Greta’s therapy-trained introspection broke through in this moment. Of course, she knew that her original anger came from a place of fear. From her perpetually meek and heartbroken inner child fearing that now Cleo had seen her for who she truly was, that she had reason to leave. She had a reason, and the right, to decide that Greta just wasn’t worth the time and pain of maintaining a relationship. That Greta burnt and destroyed every person and thing she touched.
And Greta couldn’t, in all her hyper-awareness, place any guilt on Cleo for making that eventual choice.
She had never been someone worth sticking around for.
“Greta, can you just - can you just look at me?” Cleo sounded tired. Tired of putting up with her younger sister’s shit, Greta thought.
“Please?” Cleo’s voice was gentle.
Fucking eye contact. If there was one thing that Greta absolutely DESPISED during emotional confrontations, it was eye contact. Sure, she understood the mechanics and social expectation itself - to show honesty, and connect on a truthful level. What she didn’t understand was the meaningless importance placed on such an intimate gesture.
Maybe it was the autism… Actually, scratch that, it was almost definitely the autism. Forcing herself to make eye contact in these moments made her insides writhe, and soul die just a little bit more. It felt like flaying herself open in an unhygienic environment. But in these moments, Greta had no compassion for herself. This was just another thing she failed to do. Another thing for people to get frustrated at her for. Another thing that could be the last straw.
Greta squeezed her eyes shut further. If Cleo wanted her to participate in this difficult conversation, she couldn’t also get her sister’s eye contact.
“I - I can’t do the eye contact,” fuck, her voice was scratchy. “But I’m listening. We can talk.”
A short pause.
“Okay…” Cleo said carefully.
More silence.
“Why don’t you give me an overview of what’s been racing through your mind? You’ve been lost in thought since I lost my cool back there,” Cleo was putting a lot of effort into keeping her tone gentle.
Greta sighed and swung back around so her body faced her sister. Her eyes still squeezed shut, she turned her face to the floor at the right of Cleo and warily opened her eyes. Staring determinedly at the terracotta tiles, she found her voice again,
“I just - I know! I know, okay? And at first, I was mad. I was angry. I could feel my skin heating up. Because you said all this like it was some new, profound observation. I’m fucking aware that I’m failing at living my life, Cleo. It’s not like I can ignore it. I’m twenty-three and do nothing but work and drink. In no world would anyone live that as their life for more than a week and still think ‘yeah, this is healthy. I should do this every week.’ But -”
God fucking dammit, the tears had started again. Time to squeeze her eyes shut. She couldn’t talk and have her eyes open while crying in front of another, even if she was only looking at the tiles in their general vicinity.
“But if that’s what I need to do to keep waking up each morning, then so be it. I’m fucking miserable, Cleo. And sure, my ‘life’ probably isn’t healthy, but it makes sure I don’t fucking kill myself. So what, I wake up every morning just counting down until my next drink? At least I’m counting down to something! I have no-one that needs me! I have no extracurriculars! I can’t drive! My only worth comes from seeing the innocent goddamn faces of my students and helping them learn! I’m apparently good at my job, so I cling to that like a life preserver! I -”
Beautiful. A river of snot had started dripping down her face. Greta saw the movement of Cleo hunting for a tissue in her peripheral vision, but she just wiped her nose with the back of her hand.
“And yet, this miserable existence is apparently better than having killed myself as a teen, or now. I’ve done enough therapy to have this screaming through my head as I slowly poison my liver and FEEL the life drain out of my body. I’m not living anymore, I’m surviving, but at least I’m not another dead body, gone too soon. At least all the therapy and medication have kept my shell alive and moving, even if I’m long gone… It’s the least I owe to everyone who’s ever tried to save me.”
“Greta…” Cleo’s heartbroken voice obliterated what was left of Greta’s straining mental dam.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, okay? It’s not fair on you, and everyone else, to have to watch me fall apart! You didn’t ask to have a front-row seat to this madness, which is why I just accept it when everyone leaves! I’m fucking lonely, but I don’t think anyone deserves to have all of THIS shoved on them. I’m self-aware enough to know that I am undesirable, but not enough to actually fix this. Maybe I’m just too broken. I don’t even know where to start. And I’m so tired, Cleo. I’m so tired. I’ve spent so much of my life not wanting to be here, and on top of that, am a shit human being. I’m stuck! I’m stuck in my misery!”
Chest heaving, Greta finally looked at her sister’s face. Cleo’s expression was frozen in shock. Her mouth opened and closed wordlessly.
“So, yeah, I’m fucking aware that my job is not who I am,” Greta powered through her trembling voice. “I know who I am. And who I am sucks. She’s an unlovable, fucked up monster not deserving of anyone’s time. So if I can do one goddamn good thing for this world and throw myself into my job, who am I to stop that, huh?”
Cleo was still gaping like a fish. Greta scoffed, “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
© O.M.A
#shortstory #stories #story #sister #mentalhealth #depression #SuicidePrevention #reflection #writco #writcoapp
Greta gritted her teeth, placing all of her energy into swallowing the biting words trying to escape her lips. She probably looked constipated.
Her sister just continued to stare at her expectantly. Her [claws] hands curled around her hips. Her shaggy, blonde hair hung limply just above her shoulders. Her head was cocked at a demeaning angle.
The worst part was, Cleo almost definitely thought that she was being helpful. That once Greta got over this ‘snit’, she should drop to her knees and thank her older sister for this astute observation.
No fucking shit, Greta’s job wasn’t what made her a human! She was fucking aware! Painfully so!
What Cleo, in all her assumed wisdom, failed to acknowledge, was the broken human her younger sister was outside of the working week. God, YEARS of therapy. YEARS of Greta being complimented by every mental health professional she’d ever worked with, on her ‘emotional intelligence.’ YEARS of being painfully aware of every single toxic and unhealthy behaviour she displayed in her life… Greta knew exactly who she was as a human! She was an insecure, mentally fucked, over-achieving person who pushed or scared away anyone who dared to get close! She was SO aware of who she was as a human, that she turned to vices and throwing herself into her career to just COPE with having to live every single fucking day as Greta Kolley.
…Just as fast as the all-consuming rage had risen, Greta felt it all fall away into lonely despair. She knew Cleo was just trying to help. The despair was now being paired with a growing sense of guilt as she looked closer at her older sister’s face and recognised the utter exhaustion and desperation that came with feeling responsible for such a basketcase as herself.
Greta curled her shoulders inwards in shame as Cleo sighed.
“Greta, I - “ her sister sighed again. “I just, I watch you throw yourself into your work. You talk about nothing but it Monday through Friday. And then I watch as you fall apart on the weekends, like you’ve stopped trying to exist, and pull yourself back together just in time for Monday morning…”
Holy shit, Cleo looked on the verge of tears. Guilt ate away even larger bites of Greta’s insides. Now she’d made her older sister cry. Great.
“It’s not healthy, Greta!”
Understatement of the century.
“It’s not sustainable! And you don’t deserve to throw your life away like this! You’re twenty three! And you’re living your life like it’s already over!”
Fuck, now Greta was crying. These words weren’t new - they were practically lyrics to the lullabye she whispered to herself at night when trying to convince herself she was worthy of sleep. It was a whole new experience to hear it from someone else, though.
Greta felt exposed. Raw. She was so used to being told how well she was working/coping/going. She was so used to her overzealous and EXHAUSTING efforts to achieve well and have her personal nonsense go unnoticed. So used to being complimented on surface level behaviours, without anyone actually acknowledging the anxious, depressed, and suicidal mental thought processes working overtime behind the scenes to drive and maintain these illusions.
After twenty-three isolated years of being stuck within her mind as a mere spectator - Greta felt seen.
It was terrifying.
So conditioned to the thought that she was not, and never had been, someone worth sticking around for, this exposure came with pain. Being seen, and having the instant, threatening feeling that one day soon, Cleo was going to leave her lonely again.
Everyone always left.
Sure, usually because Greta scared or pushed them away, or ghosted them until they did so, but it was an all-too-familiar dance. She was a self-fulfilling prophecy of loneliness. And she had no-one but herself to blame… She’d be lying if she said it was all selfish, though. Again, Little Miss ‘so emotionally intelligent’ was painfully aware of her many, MANY flaws. She knew, without a doubt, that if it were possible, she’d abandon herself and never look back.
Greta’s therapy-trained introspection broke through in this moment. Of course, she knew that her original anger came from a place of fear. From her perpetually meek and heartbroken inner child fearing that now Cleo had seen her for who she truly was, that she had reason to leave. She had a reason, and the right, to decide that Greta just wasn’t worth the time and pain of maintaining a relationship. That Greta burnt and destroyed every person and thing she touched.
And Greta couldn’t, in all her hyper-awareness, place any guilt on Cleo for making that eventual choice.
She had never been someone worth sticking around for.
“Greta, can you just - can you just look at me?” Cleo sounded tired. Tired of putting up with her younger sister’s shit, Greta thought.
“Please?” Cleo’s voice was gentle.
Fucking eye contact. If there was one thing that Greta absolutely DESPISED during emotional confrontations, it was eye contact. Sure, she understood the mechanics and social expectation itself - to show honesty, and connect on a truthful level. What she didn’t understand was the meaningless importance placed on such an intimate gesture.
Maybe it was the autism… Actually, scratch that, it was almost definitely the autism. Forcing herself to make eye contact in these moments made her insides writhe, and soul die just a little bit more. It felt like flaying herself open in an unhygienic environment. But in these moments, Greta had no compassion for herself. This was just another thing she failed to do. Another thing for people to get frustrated at her for. Another thing that could be the last straw.
Greta squeezed her eyes shut further. If Cleo wanted her to participate in this difficult conversation, she couldn’t also get her sister’s eye contact.
“I - I can’t do the eye contact,” fuck, her voice was scratchy. “But I’m listening. We can talk.”
A short pause.
“Okay…” Cleo said carefully.
More silence.
“Why don’t you give me an overview of what’s been racing through your mind? You’ve been lost in thought since I lost my cool back there,” Cleo was putting a lot of effort into keeping her tone gentle.
Greta sighed and swung back around so her body faced her sister. Her eyes still squeezed shut, she turned her face to the floor at the right of Cleo and warily opened her eyes. Staring determinedly at the terracotta tiles, she found her voice again,
“I just - I know! I know, okay? And at first, I was mad. I was angry. I could feel my skin heating up. Because you said all this like it was some new, profound observation. I’m fucking aware that I’m failing at living my life, Cleo. It’s not like I can ignore it. I’m twenty-three and do nothing but work and drink. In no world would anyone live that as their life for more than a week and still think ‘yeah, this is healthy. I should do this every week.’ But -”
God fucking dammit, the tears had started again. Time to squeeze her eyes shut. She couldn’t talk and have her eyes open while crying in front of another, even if she was only looking at the tiles in their general vicinity.
“But if that’s what I need to do to keep waking up each morning, then so be it. I’m fucking miserable, Cleo. And sure, my ‘life’ probably isn’t healthy, but it makes sure I don’t fucking kill myself. So what, I wake up every morning just counting down until my next drink? At least I’m counting down to something! I have no-one that needs me! I have no extracurriculars! I can’t drive! My only worth comes from seeing the innocent goddamn faces of my students and helping them learn! I’m apparently good at my job, so I cling to that like a life preserver! I -”
Beautiful. A river of snot had started dripping down her face. Greta saw the movement of Cleo hunting for a tissue in her peripheral vision, but she just wiped her nose with the back of her hand.
“And yet, this miserable existence is apparently better than having killed myself as a teen, or now. I’ve done enough therapy to have this screaming through my head as I slowly poison my liver and FEEL the life drain out of my body. I’m not living anymore, I’m surviving, but at least I’m not another dead body, gone too soon. At least all the therapy and medication have kept my shell alive and moving, even if I’m long gone… It’s the least I owe to everyone who’s ever tried to save me.”
“Greta…” Cleo’s heartbroken voice obliterated what was left of Greta’s straining mental dam.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, okay? It’s not fair on you, and everyone else, to have to watch me fall apart! You didn’t ask to have a front-row seat to this madness, which is why I just accept it when everyone leaves! I’m fucking lonely, but I don’t think anyone deserves to have all of THIS shoved on them. I’m self-aware enough to know that I am undesirable, but not enough to actually fix this. Maybe I’m just too broken. I don’t even know where to start. And I’m so tired, Cleo. I’m so tired. I’ve spent so much of my life not wanting to be here, and on top of that, am a shit human being. I’m stuck! I’m stuck in my misery!”
Chest heaving, Greta finally looked at her sister’s face. Cleo’s expression was frozen in shock. Her mouth opened and closed wordlessly.
“So, yeah, I’m fucking aware that my job is not who I am,” Greta powered through her trembling voice. “I know who I am. And who I am sucks. She’s an unlovable, fucked up monster not deserving of anyone’s time. So if I can do one goddamn good thing for this world and throw myself into my job, who am I to stop that, huh?”
Cleo was still gaping like a fish. Greta scoffed, “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
© O.M.A
#shortstory #stories #story #sister #mentalhealth #depression #SuicidePrevention #reflection #writco #writcoapp
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