1r de Batxillerat “The attic” Laia Aibar i Vidal

212 “The attic”

Laia Aibar i Vidal / 1r de Batxillerat

LLENGUA ANGLESA_2n PREMI

As I'm curled into a ball under the window, head buried between my legs, I look up, a beam of sunshine intrudes into the dusty room, reflecting little flecks drifting in the heavy air. It is the only source of light. Yet, it is enough to cast outlined shadows of the numerous stacked up objects which fill the room. Any item forgotten here will melt away, never to be found again as the dust takes hold of it. Perhaps, it might be the reason why I'm drawn to this particular place in the house whenever I feel restless. Vanishing into thin air is indeed an enslaving desire I hold whenever I feel the urge to cry my eyes out.

By virtue of the regularity in which these bitter emotions present themselves, I have learned to hide them deeply. Scarcely have I failed to do so. However, when it has come to pass, I loathed every split second. Not only does it bring uncalled-for attention, but it also arouses a tremendous vulnerability in me, regardless of the people by whom I'm surrounded.

My acquaintance with these feelings is old, and as per usual, they come to me by spouting off my most concealed insecurities. Admiration is easily transformed into self-doubt, new projects become icy mountains from which I am helplessly doomed to fall off, and a constant hunch indicating all my friendships are destined to be broken, much like a base that was dropped once the owner comprehended it had no use. I'm unable to pinpoint which was the intrusive thought to ignite today's reaction chain. I can only recall going down the spiral. I struggled to hold it in until the loud thud of the entrance door reverberated across the house announcing my parent's departure. I brought myself

to the steps and slowly made my way up to the dirty attic. As I reached the top, tears were already pouring out my eyes, blurring my vision. Nevertheless, locating my seat beneath the stained window didn't present any endeavors.

This brings us to the beginning: curled up in a ball, weeping, trembling, overthinking, repeatedly stating to myself all concepts from above, just like I always do. I ken my troubles are mine to burden with, not someone else's. I've always felt certain it must be fixed by me, myself, and I.

I cannot share it with anyone, but... what if I were to reach out? Would they be willing to listen to me? Would they be willing to help me? Would that only hurt me more? I've desperately tried to stop feeling blue, yet I couldn't achieve anything on my own. My thoughts were disrupted by the entrance door. I quickly stood up and, without much thinking involved, I rushed downstairs. I have no clue what I'm going to tell my parents, nor where I'm going to start, but I am reaching out to them.

That is the one thing I now know I must do to get the change I need.