Depressed || JJK

(54)

I took a step back and stared at the table, only to cover my mouth in shock when I noticed two of my old sketchbooks on the surface.

"Oh my God, you both...saw them?"

"Don't act so surprised, we knew this since awhile." My mother picked them up and walked towards us, handing me the books covered in thick brown paper, which I used to make them look like my course books so my parents wouldn't know that I used to sketch.

"I saw this last week when you were in the hospital, and I immediately clicked pictures and sent them to your dad," she flipped through the pages, "this one, I really loved this design. This would look so good when it will turn into an actual dress!"

"And show me that one," my father took the sketchbook from her, "that one she made...the brown tuxedo type."

"Th-That one is in the other book."

They stopped flipping and stared at me, the three of us just staring at each other, their eyes alight with hope and mine glossy with tears of happiness.

And then we all just bursted into laughter.

Together.

I covered my mouth, in an attempt to wipe a tear that flowed down my cheek, not knowing whether it was from happiness or excitement or the realisation of finally experiencing what I had been dreaming for years.

Them finally understanding me, supporting me and showing that they cared.

Although they did care for me since the start. Every parent does. But they always failed to show me what it was like to feel so open with your own parents, sharing your feelings with them without a second thought of being judged I always ended up lying because I was scared they'd scold me. Acting like a stranger towards them, who didn't even realise what I was going through all this time.

I didn't know what had caused this change, but I was happy. After a long battle of fears and judgements and hopelessness, I finally conquered what I had always wanted. A true and trustworthy relationship with my parents.

But this is just the start, the voice in my head said, this is the first time in so long when they acted like they understood me. What if it's a show of act again? What if they're doing it to gain my trust and what if they break it again? Would I be able to be the same again, the person that I've become after so many hardships, the confidence that I've gained in myself, would it all be the same?

I tried to push that thought away as my father handed me both the sketchbooks, they ghost of a smile still plastered on his thin lips. Though I never saw him smile so much, I still loved seeing him happy. Both him and my mother.

"Go to your room and take some rest. I'll call you for dinner." My mother said as she lightly stroked my chin.

"Okay...thank you so much." I bowed slightly, and walked towards my room, tightly clutching both my books in my hands, my feet feeling like feathers acrosss the floor.

I felt so lightweight, almost as if I could fly. Everything was getting better. Me, my situations and my relationships. That's all I ever wanted as a teenager.

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After two days, while I was sitting outside, resting my chin against the balcony and staring down at the busy road, I felt a tap on my shoulder.

When I turned around, I saw my father.

"Oh dad, you're back." I stood up from the mat I was sitting on and dusted my pants.