A Heart Gone Silent

Mom had taken me to a psychological examination for depression. When I filled out the questionnaire, I checked the option saying I felt down and hopeless nearly every day. She frowned and reached out to correct my choice. "How could you possibly feel down and hopeless? Aren't you happy with your life?" The furrow between her brows deepened when she noticed I described myself as having trouble establishing connections with other people. "You've been an outgoing child since you were young, don't you remember? Come on, you need to consider each statement more carefully." If she said so, I would not argue with her. Next, she reminded me that I had never experienced negative thoughts about myself, and I obeyed her. Following that, she told me that I slept like a log at night, so my answer on the questionnaire was that I had no trouble falling asleep at all. I filled out the questionnaire. Almost every answer had easily matched her wishes. Mom picked up the papers to review them. Finally, she nodded in satisfaction. "That's more like it. You should fill it out with more care from the beginning. You don't want to confuse them and have them diagnose you as unhealthy, don't you?" Lastly, I came out as having minimal depression. Mom breathed a sigh of relief. On our way home, I could not help but keep touching the scars hidden under my sleeve. All I could hear was my heartbeat pounding in my ears. My vision blurred, and everything began to fade from my consciousness. Everything had gone blank in my mind. And all that remained was a dead, suffocating silence. Chapter 1 I'm A Normal Girl "I told you that there's nothing wrong with you. How could a doctor understand you better than me? What a wasted trip." Mom voiced her frustration as she entered the car. On our way home, Mom snapped a photo of the report and sent it to the family group chat. She circled the "minimal depression" stated in the report to highlight it. She typed, 'I brought the girl to checkup. She's absolutely well. It's only stress,' and hit send. As soon as her message was delivered, our relatives appeared like sharks drawn to blood. Aunt Ghita, my youngest aunt, was the first to criticize me. 'Didn't I tell you? There's no way it's depression. What's there to feel down about when she lives a comfortable life?' I could almost imagine Uncle Orion shaking his head when he added, 'Kids these days spend too much time on their phones. They learned a new term and want to keep up with the trend.' Lastly, Dad's reply came. 'It's good to know everything's fine with her. Next time, spare your mom the torment. Taking care of you is a challenge for her, you know?' Mom put away her phone with a triumphant smile after everyone backed her. She turned to me and complained, "See? Everyone knows you're fine. Just because you threw a tantrum, I was forced to wake up early to escort you. Do you know claiming yourself to have depression might make people think I'm an abusive mother who mistreats you?" I stared at my phone screen and nodded, repeating after her, "Yeah. I'm fine." It took Mom aback for a moment. She did not expect me to agree with her so readily. I lowered my head and avoided her gaze. I remembered how every time I reached out for her help, only to have it end in her broken denial. "Have I ever complained that I'm depressed even though my life is clearly harder than yours? No! I have to wake up early and stay up late to tend to your needs when you focus on your studies. I've tried different recipes for your nutritious meals. "How dare you say you're not feeling well after I go out of my way to take care of you?" Even the trip to the hospital was her spiteful move after she spent the last night crying at my ungratefulness. Lastly, she agreed to it, but not before scolding me, "If going to the hospital is what you want, fine. I'll see for myself just what wrong I've done to you." After that, I no longer dared express myself. … Starting from that day, I became a normal girl again. I would wake up at 6.30 a.m. sharp without her knocking on my door. I would eat up the breakfast she made without leaving a crumb despite my churning stomach protesting with nausea. She had a habit of checking my backpack and phone before I left for school. This time, I simply stood aside. I had stopped accusing her of messing with my belongings. I didn't stop her when she deleted the notes I had taken on my phone either. "You're growing emotional," she commented as she returned my phone. "Next time, you should only write down things that make you happy." During classes, I had stopped slumping over the table. When the teachers asked me to answer a question, I would rise to do so. When a classmate sitting next to me asked about my well-being, I mimicked Mom's tone and shrugged it off, smiling. "Turns out it's nothing serious. I was just stressed before." After school, I took the initiative to prepare meals, mop the floor, and hang the laundry. When Mom talked to Aunt Ghita over the phone, I could hear the smile in her words. "It seems like the checkup isn't a waste at all. Nadine has finally come around. She has always pulled a long face as though we've wronged her. Now that she understands she's not sick, she finally lightens up." Aunt Ghita chuckled on the other end of the line. "I told you so. The kids nowadays are just paranoid." Mom lowered her gaze. I had crouched down to clean a stain at her feet. A satisfied smile appeared on her lips, and she replied into the phone, "That's right. It's important to let her know that she can't run away from her problems forever." I stubbornly kept my eyes trained on the ground and worked mechanically, but the stain was long gone. Yet, I cleaned the same spot over and over again. … At 10 p.m., she barged into my room. By then, I was lying in bed, ready for sleep. My school uniform was neatly arranged in my wardrobe. The homework due tomorrow had been placed on top of my backpack. The scene put a smile on her face. "See? Isn't it better when you stop begging for attention? I was only strict with you because I didn't want you to make mistakes. You'll understand that I do all of this for your own good and thank me when you grow up." I met her eyes and forced a smile. "Thanks, Mom." She turned off the light and left my room. Outside, she sent Dad a voice message. "Don't worry, everything's fine. Nadine has been obedient and stopped saying worrying things since the checkup." I heard Dad asking her. "Then, what's the point of keeping the report?" "Why not? It's to keep her from making a scene in the future." Her footsteps gradually faded away. I snapped open my eyes and stared at my reading table. I had placed a copy of my test report beneath the table lamp. My depression rating score was low, indicating none to minimal depressive tendencies. The remarks suggested that family communication should be maintained. After staring at it for a long time, I pulled out the drawer and took out a brand-new diary. On the first page, I wrote, 'I woke up on time this morning. I finished my breakfast. I paid attention to classes. I helped Mom with the chores after school.' I was doing fine, really. Chapter 2 A Doorless Room On the seventh day after I started writing a diary, I threw up in the exam hall during the monthly exam. The moment I received the paper, the noise in the room suddenly became muffled, as though I had been dragged to the bottom of the ocean. The supervisor's footsteps, the rustling papers, the announcement overhead—everything blurred into a buzzing noise. My heartbeat drowned every sound. It pounded in my chest, and it was unbearably painful. My homeroom teacher helped me to the corridor and called Mom. … Half an hour later, Mom rushed to the school. Ms. Romano said, "Nadine doesn't seem well. You should take her home to rest." "There's no need." Mom fished the report out of her bag. Lately, she had been carrying it around. The papers were visibly frayed. "She had a checkup a few days ago, and she's absolutely healthy. Isn't it too much of a coincidence to throw up right during the monthly exam?" A few students came into the hallway to fill their bottles. Their curious eyes darted between the report and my face. Ms. Romano's voice dropped to a whisper. "It could be that she's stressed." Mom's eyes were reddened with emotion in an instant. "There's no way she's stressed! I basically neglected my needs to take care of her. When she said she's unwell, I immediately took her for a checkup. The result clearly mentions she's not sick! I don't understand why she pulled another stunt right now. What else should I do?" My classmates' piercing gaze pinned me to the spot. I recalled the last exam. Overwhelmed by discomfort, I rushed out of the exam hall. The moment Mom arrived, she slapped me in front of everyone and scolded me. "Stop being a drama queen. Why can't you just sit the exam like others?" I argued that I was not feeling well, but she immediately shut me down and insisted I was talking nonsense. I added that my heart was beating unusually fast, but she believed that I was only trying to skip the exam. So today, she turned to me and asked, "Are you able to continue the exam?" I nodded. "Yes." She was relieved to hear that. "See? She's tough and can handle it." Ms. Romano escorted me back into the hall. As I walked past the back row, someone whispered, "Isn't she having depression?" Another student sneered. "No way. It's more like a delusion. Her mother even brought the medical report to prove that she's faking it." They let out muffled laughter. I returned to my seat and picked up the pen. My head was swimming, and I could barely recognise the questions on the paper. I tried to write my answers slowly, word by word, but I struggled to hold on. … In the afternoon, Ms. Romano summoned me to the office. Mom was already waiting there. My incomplete exam paper was spread out in front of her. She did not spare me a second glance. Instead, she clutched Ms. Romano's hand and shed anxious tears. "Ms. Romano, you have no idea how hard my life is. When Nadine said she has issues, I took her for a checkup right away. Now that the result shows she's fine, she still refuses to cooperate. I wonder what else I can ever do to please her." Her accusations drew other teachers' attention to me. Someone offered her a tissue. Ms. Romano sighed sympathetically. "You surely carry a heavy burden on your shoulders, Mrs. Tucker." Then, she turned to me, saying in earnest, "Mrs. Tucker is a good mother. You should be more grateful." I nodded. An apology left my mouth. "I'm sorry, Mom. I shouldn't have done that." When we went home, Mom snapped a photo of my unfinished exam paper and posted it in the family group chat. 'Nadine threw up during the monthly exam again and didn't finish her paper. She always throws a tantrum during the exam. It's getting old.' Aunt Ghita rushed to support her. 'The girl is running away from her responsibility again. She needs to be disciplined.' Uncle Orion echoed their opinions. 'She's fragile. Sometimes I wonder if she's your daughter at all. How did she become such a weakling when you, her mother, have been independent since you were young?' As always, Dad's reply came last. 'She probably overthinks it again when she's alone. Next time, leave her bedroom door open. Don't let her lock herself in the room.' That very night, he entered my room with a toolbox to unscrew the hinges. I watched by the bed as he removed the door. Mom watched him work outside with her arms crossed. "Isolation attracts negative thoughts. Last time, you threw a fit and stopped us from taking down the door. This time, you're not getting away from it. This is the last time we tolerate you" My trembling hand grabbed the doorknob. This was my last straw. I wanted to appeal to their reasons, but my mind kept racing with what harsh words she would spew and how she would cry that it was for my own good. The idea discouraged me. In the end, I said nothing. From that day on, my room was left without a door. Whenever I wanted to change, I could only do it under the blanket. Even when I had trouble falling asleep at night, I did not dare to toss and turn in bed. Mom would pass the corridor frequently to check whether I was crying. It was already midnight the fourth time she checked on me. I heard her bragging to Dad. "Look, she's behaving now. We should've set boundaries long ago. All we did before was coddle her." Chapter 3 A Parade The third day after my room door had been removed, the school held a parent-teacher meeting. Mom arrived at my classroom thirty minutes earlier. When Ms. Romano brought up students' mental health, Mom raised her hand. "Ms. Romano, I'd like to share my input on this topic," she said, as she retrieved the medical report from her bag. Not long ago, my daughter claimed she was depressed. I paid for a checkup, and it turned out she isn't depressed at all." The surrounding parents' gaze encouraged her to share more. "Kids nowadays learn new terms on the internet and label themselves. They excuse their bad grades with 'anxiety' and their resistance to going to school as 'depression'. If parents try to advise them, it somehow traumatizes them. Their future will be ruined if we don't intervene." A few parents nodded in agreement. Someone asked, "How's your girl doing now?" Mom smiled, and her eyes found me at the back of the classroom. "She's better now. Come, Nadine. Tell them about yourself." Everyone's attention was instantly drawn to me. I walked up to the front, and Mom shoved the report into my hand, encouraging me, "Go on." I clutched the paper so hard that it creased. I eventually forced a smile as I announced to the crowd, "I was troubled by negative thoughts before, and it gave the people around me a hard time. But now, I've come around, and I won't cause any trouble anymore." The classroom erupted into thunderous applause. One parent praised Mom, "You did the right thing. We can't just spoil our kids." Mom's eyes curled into a smile, but she tried to be modest about it. "I'm doing this for her good." When I arrived at the classroom the next morning, the boys at the back mocked my tone. "I'm fine. It's just stress." Someone even wrote "minimal depression" on the whiteboard. They drew a crying face next to it and added "attention seeker". Everyone laughed in my face. … Later, during the afternoon physical education class, the teacher made us run a few laps. My heartbeat went out of control on the second lap. A suffocating pain washed over me. I winced at every intake of breath. Someone behind me shouted, "Is that a new stunt to grab attention?" Another person immediately chimed in with amusement in their tone. "Don't talk nonsense. Her report shows that she's totally healthy." I forced myself to complete the laps. When I finally crossed the finish line, I collapsed to the ground. I scraped my knee, and blood trickled down. The teacher allowed me to rest on the side. As I sat on the edge of the field, my heartbeat gradually slowed. I was almost convinced that things had gotten better for me. When Mom picked me up after school, she noticed my scraped knee and asked, "What happened?" "I fell while doing laps." "Your teacher told me that you nearly passed out." "It didn't happen." "Were you overthinking things again?" "No." My answer became simpler every time. I met her eyes and concluded, "I skipped breakfast." Her expression softened, and she did not dwell on it. "I see. If you're feeling unwell, it has to be related to your physical condition. Don't blame everything on mental health." Back at home, she had prepared a hearty meal for me. She ordered, "Finish it. Don't give your teachers the idea that I'm starving you." I began to eat. Before long, my stomach started to churn violently. That very night, I threw up in bed, but I did not dare to draw Mom's attention to it. My room was doorless, and she would check on me at any time. I rolled up the soiled bedsheet and shoved it under the reading table, covering it with my school uniform. … Meanwhile, Mom was on the phone with Aunt Ghita again. Her laughter reached me. "I knew all along Nadine was seeking attention. After taking her to a checkup and removing her bedroom door, she has started to behave. If your child pulls the same stunt one day, send them to me." She paused dramatically before announcing, "Everyone knows I'm a master of fixing problematic kids." I covered my mouth with both hands and swallowed back the sickness rising in my throat. Chapter 4 Breaking Point The next day, Mom set up her phone on a phone holder in the living room. She pulled over two chairs and ordered me to sit next to her. She urged me, "Smile. Don't pull a long face." I forced a smile. "Like this?" "Wider." Then, she started recording. A practiced smile slipped onto her face with ease as she stared at the camera. Then, her introduction began. "Lately, many parents have been asking me what to do when their kids claim they're depressed. Truth is, there's never depression to begin with. They've just spent too much time on their phones and are overwhelmed by the information online, but they've no channel to express their confusion." She showed the report to the camera. "My daughter pulled the same stunt before. After I took her to the hospital for a checkup, it turned out there's nothing wrong with her." She tilted the phone slightly to me and nudged my leg under the table. "Nadine, tell everyone. Are you feeling better already?" I stared at the pale face on the screen and answered, "Yes, I'm feeling better now." "So, why did you think you were depressed before?" "I guess I was just being dramatic." "Have I ever mistreated you? "Never." "Do you agree that I'm strict with you for your own good?" I nodded. "Yes, I believe so." Mom stopped the recording, replayed it a few times, and commented, "Nice speech." She sent the video to the class parents' group chat with the caption 'Don't spoil your child. They'll take it for granted.' … In less than half an hour, the group chat was flooded with praise. Some said she knew how to discipline kids. The others asked for her advice to make their children obedient. Some other parents shared the video to the larger group chat. … That afternoon, Ms. Romano called Mom. She cut to the chase. "Many have seen the video. Some students are gossiping about it." Mom giggled. "Let them watch. It'll work as a warning to them not to fake illness to grab attention." After hanging up, she made me watch the video. In the video, I maintained a smile on my face the whole time. Someone commented, 'The girl seems normal. There's no way she's sick.' Another person wrote, 'She just needs to be taught a lesson. See. She's totally fine now.' Mom placed the phone in front of me and smirked. "Everyone can tell you're not sick." I nodded at her and chuckled faintly. Later, she specially made my favorite dish for dinner. "Something good happened today. You should eat more to celebrate the occasion." Food piled on my plate. I ate every single bite. She raised her phone and snapped a photo of me eating. "You've no problem eating at all, yet you claim to be depressed. I'll share this photo, so everyone sees you're doing fine." I looked at the camera, and my smile widened. Before long, my stomach began to protest. I simply forced the food down my throat. Mom was unaware of it. She was immersed in the comment section. "People are saying I should offer parenting classes to teach parents how to fix dramatic children." Dad laughed, clearly sharing her opinion. "You're a miracle worker." … At night, I still threw up. Kneeling in the bathroom, I covered my mouth, too afraid to make a sound and draw their attention. Blood trickled down my wrist, joining the vomit I had not flushed away. The new wounds tore open the old ones. My barely healed skin burst. My blood and the vomit mixed into an unrecognizable puddle. Meanwhile, Mom played the video on a loop in the living room. Behind the bathroom door, I muttered quietly under my breath, "I'm already cured." Mom was always right. I woke up on time this morning, finished my meals, and was even smiling the whole time. I had stopped crying, nor had I said I was in pain. My heartbeat gradually slowed. It thumped in my chest, and only beat again after a long pause. It had become too weak. I put a hand on my chest, feeling my heartbeat underneath quietly. This time, it had stopped its call for help. Mom only realized the bathroom light was still on during dawn. She pushed the door open and froze when she found me on the floor. Then, a bloodcurdling scream escaped her. Dad rushed over and called the ambulance. Mom dropped to her knees beside the puddle and tried to wake me. However, their voices sounded far, far away from my consciousness. I could no longer hear them clearly.