Sometimes, I feel like I’m two people.
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A lengthy hospitalization for medical and mental health reasons followed. Me and my braid were back at home after several months. I cut two feet of my hair a week after my arrival home. Even my mother agreed, this was a good choice, a fresh start. The power was in my hands.
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I am a fifteen-year-old body, shrinking violet-lipped, dry-skinned, smug body. See my unravelling, see me feast upon my own flesh, see me disappear, see me. Don’t see me. I am a hologram – here one minute, gone the next.
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I am 21. Impulsive, reckless, young, and the epitome of self sabotage. People often tell me, “You don’t know. You have no clue what the real world is like yet.” Maybe they’re right. Maybe I don’t, but I definitely know enough. All I have ever needed to know. I know this world wants to see me wither away, the embers of my soul burned to ash, into nothingness, just like me.
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Depression is the feeling that you don’t feel an ounce of joy from the little things that used to make you howl with laughter.
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*trigger warning for those sensitive to mental health issues
My psych ward socks are showing. I take a seat on one of the ugly chairs and watch the paramedic leave. I watch the other girls and bite my nails.
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