IDK

My dad came home after a three-day trip, and I had missed him a lot. My mom told me I had to show him my grades before we had dinner. She left us alone in the room while she prepared dinner.
It was quiet for the most part, but the air felt heavy as I watched my dad read through my grades. The silence was deafening until he finally asked me, “Why?”
I couldn’t answer because I could feel the guilt building up in my throat. He asked me again. I knew it would only upset him more if I stayed silent, so I told him the truth.
“I just didn’t study.”
He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he sat there in silence, letting my words replay over and over in my head. Then he told me that my grades didn’t only affect me—they affected their image as well.
He knew exactly what to say because I know it’s true. I never wanted my mistakes to affect his life. He’s the only person I truly trust and admire. There has never been a single moment in my life when he has disappointed me, and all I’ve ever wanted was to make him proud in return.
But I couldn’t.
I started crying and avoided eye contact because I didn’t want to look weak or overly sensitive, even though I knew it wouldn’t help. The feelings kept building until it wasn’t even about my grades anymore. It became about what I saw as my complete failure as a human being.
My dad’s voice cut through my crowded thoughts. He asked me what he could do to help me improve.
I snapped back to reality and looked down at my report again, but all I could see were blurred marks on the piece of paper lying in front of me. I looked away as more tears filled my eyes and told him there was nothing he could do.
He then asked why my mind wasn’t on my schoolwork and what was taking up all of my attention.
I froze.
I couldn’t tell him the real reason.
I have plenty of excuses I could give to answer that question, but the truth is that I’m so incredibly depressed and unhappy with the person I am. I could write pages explaining why, but the moment someone asks me about it, I either lie, change the subject, or shut them out completely.
I can’t do that to the only person I truly want in my life. I can’t ruin the only real relationship I have.
I also know that telling him I want to die doesn’t feel like it would change anything. I’ve been to therapy. I’ve taken medication. I’ve made friends to help with the loneliness. None of it has helped. Every day still feels exactly the same as it did three years ago.
How am I supposed to tell the man who gave me such a good life—a really good life—that I’m not happy, and that I want to die?
I can’t do that to him.
So I stay silent. I push my feelings as deep down as I can, and somehow it’s started affecting everything else too: my memory, my concentration, and even my ability to emotionally connect with people, including a ten-year-old child.
I don’t know what to do anymore.
The only thing I can picture when I think about my future is death.