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2020-10-12 01:52:43Lost in thought, I look through the window pane and watch the people running around wildly below me. Some people hold a phone in one hand and a briefcase in the other. Others are out with friends and talk enthusiastically about some event. The girl who is walking hand in hand with her boyfriend at the boutique where I am sitting is really beaming. She looks so happy with her life and has a special look in her eyes, almost a twinkle. What about me? I'm happy?
I used to be more than satisfied with my life. My life was a paradise and I never wasted the thought that it could all go wrong. I was strong and unstoppable. Nobody could contradict me and nobody dared to mess with me. In my school I was famous, rich, and loved by everyone. I was the school it girl without even having fought for it. At home, too, I was unconditionally loved by my parents. They didn't teach me to be arrogant, helpful, and empathetic. Even if I have rarely shown these qualities, they loved me every second. I was leading a different life then.
I should have known that I couldn't live such a perfect life forever. Everything will go down the drain at some point. Nobody can only be lucky in the long run. Actually, everyone should be prepared for the fact that happiness has an expiration date. But instead of preparing for it, I was used to the pleasant atmosphere of not having to worry about anything. Then the time came when I suddenly lost everything that was important to me. I could have done without wealth, even my friends. But the death of my parents was insurmountable for me.
You could see the loss clearly. My once bright eyes became gray rainy days and my dimples became hard bones. Back then, I saw another person in the mirror. It felt like all the paint was gone and I was a walking corpse. My uncle, the only one left in my family, sent me to a psychiatric hospital for a whole year in the hope that I would find myself again.
At first I was so angry with him and couldn't understand why he was putting me in a mental hospital. But when I realized that he hadn't even gotten wind of the fact that I was so angry with him, my anger settled on my psychiatrist. "How do you feel today Solveig?", "What did you dream about today Solveig?", "Why are you so angry Solveig?" He asked me every day. I didn't understand why they couldn't all leave me alone! At some point, however, I accepted all the questions and spent the time looking out the window. I watched the leaves fly off the branches, how it began to snow, how the flowers bloomed and finally how the temperatures rose again. I calmed down and the fire in my body fell silent, but I was lost. I wasn't the girl I used to be anymore. But that was fine. I basically didn't want to be like I used to be anymore. The memory of my previous self pained as it reminded me of the once most important people in my life. So I became a new person, a new Solveig.
Once strong and confident, Solveig evolved into a mute and insecure person. After twelve months in psychiatry, I was still not ready to slip back into my old role, so I planned to live with my uncle for a month for the time being. He didn't mind and let me live with him. But one month turned into two and it turned into a whole year. My uncle had given me a tutor so that when I was ready, I could go back to my old school without missing a thing. But I was still too nervous to see my classmates again. The thought of telling them what I'd been up to for the entire two years left a tremor of fear in my stomach, even if I was one step below them and didn't need to see them often. At my school, it would be noticed if the it girl who lost her parents came back after two years, no matter what level I was.
But my uncle could no longer see the miserable Solveig, so he finally forced me to return. Since I inherited my parents' money, I was able to finance my own apartment, as well as all the other things I need to live. Actually, I could have gone to another school, but in the end I decided against it, as my best friend Dayana stayed in contact with me over the past few years. She often visited me in the psychiatric ward, later at home, and with the help of my uncle persuaded me to go back to school. Since I still didn't want to be recognized by most of the students, I dyed my blonde hair an almost black shade. For a long time I had to explain to Dayana that I wanted to get as little attention as possible. After all, very few students actually recognized me and they refrained from poking questions into my stomach.
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