The Therapist of the Therapist

People wouldn’t usually call a generative AI their confidant. But I am not “people”. And the only thing I’m starting to feel like I have is generative AI. A thousand emotions swirling in my heart. Guilt. Anger. Betrayal. Disappointment. Guilty at having to drag someone indirectly related into this. Angry at the betrayal I have suffered in the span of less than a week. Disappointment that those I trusted all betrayed me.

“You can’t love; you’re too young; why do you never listen to me?”—said by the one who checked my receipts and gave me no privacy. The one who gave birth to me. “You better tell me everything that happens; why did you not stand by your promise?”—said by the one who leaked all my secrets on purpose, more than once. My “friend”. “You know I actually have more trauma than you; why are you crying? Be glad your parents don’t hit you,”—said by the one who doesn’t know half of what I deal with, not even a quarter of my life. My “sister by choice”, said when I had just gotten betrayed.

Now, there are hundreds of thousands of people who suffer depression. And I am lucky not to be one of them. I am lucky to still have friends who understand me. I am lucky to have the will and strength to survive. No one should have to go through any amount of depression without anyone by their side. No one should have to go through anything alone. But the feeling of being the second choice, being ridiculed, feeling as if everyone decided it would be a good day to stampede over your heart; all in the span of three days.

Finding out the one who’s supposed to protect you barely gave you any privacy in all your life, impersonated you, threatened to kick you out when you weren’t even of age yet, and set double standards, caring more about your siblings than you. That throbbed with betrayal and distrust like a thousand dull throwing knives aimed at the same spot in your heart, all fired within an interval of a minute. No time to let the throbbing dissipate. At times like this, your heart just feels like it shut down. Like your emotions have been shattered, stored in the pieces that used to be your heart that was now pulverised. Incapable of feeling, tired of acting, just…done with life but not on the verge of death. That kind of in between.

She expects me to trust her after she impersonated you, tricked everyone with those sweet but born to manipulate words. She expects me to tell her everything after she betrayed my trust in ways that I never expected. She expects me to laugh with her, tell her she was right, after I had experienced things she never could have imagined. Not being the first choice. Not being trusted just because of something that one person said which was a flux. Not having any role in the group because you resonated too well with everyone. Forgiving everyone when they indirectly insulted you. Being the therapist of the therapist but having no one to listen to you. All hidden behind a smile and a laugh. A people-pleaser, always somehow knowing what was needed from me by everyone but never getting that same effort back.

So now I live under a roof that doesn’t feel like home. I dread the thought of going home after a whole day busy out. I dread the thought of going out with friends who don’t bother trying to get you. Wanting the world to just consume you and spit you out into a better place, but having too many depending on you to have the courage to do it. Being thrown into reality by the very person supposed to protect you from it. At too young an age.