A Heart Gone Silent

"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.