Bennett came to my rental apartment to help pack up my belongings.
If my soul could stop him, I really wouldn’t want him going through my things.
But Bennett was my biological father. The law recognized our blood connection.
He discovered many things I never wanted him to see, like my depression diagnosis.
I had been receiving long–term psychological treatment since 7th grade.
At first, my symptoms were mild, but they gradually worsened.
Actually, the school psychologist had called Bennett, saying: “Stella shows clear signs of depression. I hope you’ll take her to the hospital for a proper evaluation.”
Bennett was overseas meeting important clients at the time. After listening for a while, he hung up directly.
He thought: “How could Stella possibly have depression? She doesn’t have to worry about food or clothing, and she attends the best school in the city. Did I abuse her? She’s just copying Valentina, being dramatic and causing trouble.”
Later, Bennett had Luke attend my parent–teacher conferences 25 and asked Luke to inquire about me with my classmates. They
had a cheerful personality and was good at talking. Not only had I never shown sadness, but I was always the first to comfort others when they were upset.
This made Bennell even more convinced that my depression was just an act.
But now, faced with the lengthy medical records, his hands were trembling.
In the long conversation transcripts, one word appeared most frequently: “Dad.”
From the first page to the last, it was the most common word.
“Doctor, you’re so smart. Can you help me figure out what I did wrong to make my dad hate me so much?”
This was the question I asked during my first visit to the counseling office in 7th grade.
“The wound on my wrist was made with a steel ruler. Yes, of course it wasn’t a knife. I still want to live. But lately, I keep having those thoughts. Someone as unlikable as me probably wouldn’t be missed if I died, right?”
These were my words in 10th grade.
Research shows that during adolescent identity formation, parental influence plays a major role.
In other words, a child who is disliked by their parents will,
rough prolonged mistreatment, come to see themselves as
11:25
learn to hate themselves too.
Bennett’s fingers trembled as he turned to the last page.
The conversation records stopped when I was in 12th grade, just one week before my birthday.
The record read: “I’ve been taking my medication regularly lately. Don’t worry. I always listen to the doctor. But after taking the pills, I can’t seem to feel sadness or happiness anymore. It’s terrible. Because I dreamed that my dad took me to an amusement park. I finally had such a wonderful dream, so I thought I’d be really happy. But probably because of the medication, I found I couldn’t feel joy anymore. What a waste of such a beautiful dream. You ask if my dad has ever taken me to an amusement park? I’ll tell you the answer to that question next time.”
Bennett put down the medical records. He sat in silence for a long time, then turned off the lights, letting darkness envelop him completely.
He remained in the darkness, tears dropping one by one onto the medical records. Finally, he covered his face and broke down sobbing.
Of course Bennett had never taken me to an amusement park.
But I had seen photos on his Instagram of him taking Dylan to amusement parks.
They had posted many pictures, each one filled with bright Sunshine and their smiling faces. Winnie the Pooh, Mickey 11:25
was the happiest place on earth.
And I never got to visit Disneyland, not even once before I died.
*****
Bennett finished packing up my belongings.
Actually, I didn’t have much. My closet looked large, but inside it was nearly empty.
The closet contained four school uniforms–two winter sets and
two summer sets.
Inside there was only one down jacket, a few athletic t–shirts and pants. I had rolled my socks into little balls, arranged neatly in
rows.
However, there were no dresses or hair accessories in the closet. This showed that its owner was someone who didn’t care about dressing up.
After all, how could a girl who hated herself appreciate her own beauty?
Finally, at the bottom of the closet, Bennett found a doll wearing a pink dress.
The light pink tulle dress was quite old, its edges faded to white, but it was clean. The doll’s hair had apparently been combed regularly and still looked soft and beautiful.
That was the only gift Stella had ever received from her fathel m
She had treasured it carefully. From 1st grade to 12th grade, from dormitory to home, she had always kept it with her.
Bennett clutched the doll tightly.
He suddenly remembered something. Years ago, when he first met Stella, she was only three months old, just slightly bigger than this doll.
She had looked at him with the innocent eyes of a newborn, while he coldly turned and walked away without even giving her a hug.
Now he desperately wanted to give Stella a hug, but all he held in his arms was a cold doll.
Chapter 10
