The Time My Craving Of Pizza Triggered A Breakdown

Disclaimer: Whatever I’m about to say right now might not make a lot of sense because neither does my psyche.

Once upon a time, late in 2015, I was sitting at my dining table, absolutely craving a pizza. The reason I broke down was because I didn’t have enough money. I started to absolutely freak out. Mind you, this was before I even pitched the idea to my parents – one of whom would probably been able to buy me pizza – or at least have topped up the money that I already had, to be able to afford one.

Would you believe me if I said that this pizza craving led me to resent my parents for birthing me? Because it did. Embarrassingly. Here’s why: was 17 years old, and in no way financially stable. I was very quickly becoming an adult; meant to be less and less dependent on my parents. But I still felt as dependent on them as I had when I was 10 years old. Why?

This idea of growing into “adulthood” [used loosely to mean legal ages of adulthood, i.e. 18+] still dependent made me freak out even more because, hello, I didn’t ask for any of this! These things that came with adulthood: having to be financially stable, having to find food for myself, having to find ways to pay my bills, having to find a way to become self-actualized, having to survive! And we all know how hard life is. It’s not a walk through the park. You have to live with people, with relationships, with families you didn’t choose, with people who have all these expectations of you… You might get your heart broken and have to find a way to deal with it. You’d have to deal with people around you dying, and have actual responsibilities. Note that in all this, I haven’t mentioned children.

It didn’t even occur to me to include the prospect of children in my own adulthood woes – partially because I was already seriously piling blame on my parents for giving me life. That sounds really harsh, I know. But I was just thinking about how oblivious they were to my plight, and to my disappointed view of life, my unstable mental condition, and all my worries. And it had never been a matter of talk-to-them-and-let-them-console me. No, I don’t want to be consoled. Even if we had that kind of relationship, that wouldn’t be what I wanted. I want to be given evidence that before conceiving me, these guys had thought extensively about what kind of world they were about to bring an entire person into. If they knew it would come to this, why did they do this? Had they ever had existential crises before? Did they think of how I would repeatedly ask myself “WTH am I doing here?” That I may hate the world, that I may be suicidal, that I didn’t want to exist? And that they would never be able to give me satisfactory answers?

It agitated me that it appeared to me that many parents never really thought about the gravity of bringing a WHOLE HUMAN BEING into this world, before having children.

Kids are not a fashion accessory. Kids also shouldn’t be a societal expectation or measure of status, though in many places, they are. =(. The most important point though, that I think people are especially missing is this: having children is NOT ABOUT YOU.

It’s never, ever about you. It’s always about them. Too many people don’t digest this. It really bothers me how casually people throw around questions like, “How many children do you want to have?” As if existence is a thing so light.

Do you realize that the children you have will grow up? That you probably cannot take care of them their whole lives and so one day they may be floundering about, wondering what the heck they’re doing? Not wanting anything that they have? Wanting everything they don’t have? Or even accidentally get shot or killed or whatever? Nah? Well that explains it.

For years now, I have been consciously wondering how I would handle it if I was the one responsible for the existence of a kid like me; one who is tired of existence and the world in general. I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from feeling that I am the cause of his/her misery. So I think it’s safe to say that something big might have to happen, to convince me to bring an entire being into existence into a world I rarely even enjoy being in.

As all these thoughts were floating through my head tumultuously, I grabbed my phone and started to message all these people, frantically asking how I was going to make money to support my life. Yeah, they probably all thought I was out of my mind. But I was, so it’s cool.

Anyway, at the end of the day my mother did top up my money and drove me to pick up the pizza when it was ready. Then my dad came back home and found out, then paid both of us back. That was great.

But the crises never stopped happening.

-Akotowaa

 

Advertisements

7 thoughts on “The Time My Craving Of Pizza Triggered A Breakdown

  1. Even names… I was always troubled thinking of the fact that most people do not think of the children when giving them names. Would they like it? Would they appreciate it? Should we pick our own names when we are old enough?

    In secondary school, a friend’s name translated to dust pan. She hated it. People made fun if her. What were her oarents thinking?! Definitely NOT about her, and the fact that she will grow up AND GO TO HIGH SCHOOL!

    Sometimes I think of my condition and the studies that show the possibility that it may be genetic and was latent till triggered in my adult life. During a flare up, it comes to mind even more. If this is in my genes…if this is in my genes…

    ….

  2. ‘Kids are not a fashion accessory.’

    That’s so deep! It’s good you spoke of this. I have a friend who wants to have a kid so bad just because he sees Ice Prince Swagging with his kid on his Instagram. WTH?

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s