Yes.

This is just a little something I wrote a few nights ago to vent. Since I started high school (and some time before that, too) I've been getting a lot of pressure from my parents, and my teachers, and my friends, and even myself to try and be... perfect. It seems to me that everyone expects me from here on out to focus completely on getting into a good college. It's getting me extremely stressed out about my future, and so this is what I created. Enjoy :).

Yes.

Of course I’ll do that. Of course I will. I'll do it now, I'll do it then, I'll do it all the time. If that's what it takes, I'll do it. Whatever you say, really. Whatever you want. Everything. You know best, after all.

What do you want from me? What do you expect? Just tell me please, and I'll do it. I’ll get good grades, if you really want. I know you’re always talking about how important those things are. I'd never dream of disappointing you. You want me to join a club? Well, sure. Absolutely. I kind of liked having free time after school to just hang out and do the things I love, but if you think it will make me happier, then I wouldn’t have it any other way. And you want me to outshine the rest of the kids in my school? Be better than them all? I guess that would be all right. I never really thought of life as a competition, but if you say so, then I guess it is. You know best, after all. You know best.

So, if that is your question, then yes. I will do it. I will do whatever is expected of me, because that is what you expect me to do. I’ll get a perfect score on every test that I take. I’ll be the best of my classmates: smarter, kinder, faster, better in every way. I’ll grow up healthy and happy, smart and brave, strong and flawless. And when it’s time, I’ll get into the best college available and become a lawyer, a doctor, a scientist. Whichever makes me more successful, for as you’ve taught me my entire life, success equals happiness, right?

Yet… sometimes I am unsure. You tell me that by working hard and proving better than others I am assuring myself a good future. You tell me that by surrounding myself with healthy, happy, normal classmates I am making sure there is no one left to drag me down. You tell me that if I want to be happy later, I must suffer now. It only gets worse, so I better start working hard while I can. To insure that I am ready for whatever lies ahead. And always I do what you say. Always I follow. You ask me questions and I answer them not based on what I think is correct, but what you think. And that will get me far, you tell me. You want the best for me, and doing as you say is what will give me that.

But let me tell you one thing. And for once in your life, please listen. I may do what is expected of me, follow all the rules and answer all your questions the way that you want me to. And I may always do this, for the rest of my life. But I will never do more. Never. I live up to your expectations in order to make you happy, but that does not mean that I am. Sure, my grades are firm. Sure, my future looks great. Sure, my life is absolutely, undeniably perfect. And that’s all because of you, so thank you for that. But what I’ve found is that there’s more to life than the path you are so kindly leading me down. There are so many other roads to see, and every part of me is aching to explore them. So if you want me to take a step down the street you are pointing to, you’ll have to be the one to lead me towards it. Because I will never, ever, go in that direction on my own.

I am obedient. I am a people-pleaser. I don’t want to disappoint. And because of this, whatever you expect me to do, I will do it. I will go with you towards whatever future you may have in store for me, so long as you are there to give me a good push. But let me warn you now. Wherever you take me, wherever your gentle hand has in store for my precious future, do not expect me to be happy. Because chances are, I will not be. Yet I will never resist.

Maybe, one day, if you had just bothered to ask me what I really wanted to do with my life, things could have turned out differently. Of course, you have asked me that before, but I know you’ve never really meant it. You never really wanted to know what it was that I was so dying to say. You just wanted me to repeat your dreams, your wishes for my life. And so instead of the truth, I only gave you the answer that you wanted to hear. And you were satisfied with that. Why were you satisfied with that? If you had just taken the time to tell me—in your soft, kind, loving voice that somehow always brings me comfort in times of distress—that you would love me and support me and never judge me no matter which direction I chose to go—and really, truly meant it—then maybe I could have been happy. At least for a little while. But no. The time for that is over. Let’s not worry about the life I could have had. That was finished before it even begun.

But sometimes, I worry that you are right. That the world really is about more than just the way I feel, and that the only way I can really, truly be free is to just forget about being happy and focus on what’s real. Focus on the things that I can see. Maybe you’re right, and maybe I’m wrong. But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m miserable. I’m not like you. As stupid and pitiful as this may sound to you, to the entire world, I can’t just forget about my thoughts, my feelings, my dreams. I just can’t. But I follow you anyway, because I’m afraid to admit it. Deep down I feel that somehow, feeling this way makes me inadequate. Makes me weak. I don’t want to be weak.

One day you’ll see me up there. Just where you’ve always wanted me to be. You’ll smile and wave and tell me how proud you are. You’ll wrap your arms around me, and I will not pull away. I’ll smile back at you, too, even though I'll feel as if I’m dying inside. You’ll tell me that all you’ve ever wanted was for me to be happy, and I’ll try hard not to roll my eyes. If you’re perceptive enough, and you may not be, you’ll notice the lack of hope in my once shining face. My once beautiful spirit. So you’ll come closer to me. Put your now old, wrinkled hand atop my shoulder.

“Are you alright?” you’ll ask me, concern in your voice, “Are you happy?”

And what will I say? What will I do? I’ll look you straight in the eyes, forcing yet another smile on my tired face, and whisper a single word between my soft and fragile lips. Yes.

I will say yes.