"Write about it," she says,
Tapping her pen against her clipboard.
"Write about what?" you ask, staring at the floor.
She laughs, and you feel a spike of envy.
"What you feel." she says. "How you feel, at any time. Happy or sad."
You shrug, mumbling that you'll try before getting up and walking out of the room.
You answer the questions your parents ask with the responses you want to hear,
Brushing it all off as a phase like they say.
"Everyone goes through it," they encourage. "It's perfectly normal."
Normal? you think. Is it normal to feel this way?
Is it normal to be an addict, but not to anything material?
Can you be addicted to self-destruction?
But you nod and say that you know, you understand.
"And besides," they laugh, focusing their eyes on the road. "You can't stay sad forever."
That, that right there, makes your skin crawl. You rub your wrists and knuckle your eyes, feeling the seeping wounds inside of you breaking open again.
But can't you? you think. Because right now, I think I just might.
Because there is no light at the end of the tunnel.
I'm in a pit, stuck at the bottom. Everyone seems to think there's some stairwell out, but there isn't.
It's broken. Splintered and cracking wood that will snap as soon as I put one foot on it.
Shifting, you nod blankly at whatever your parents are saying.
The ladder is broken, and the pit is filling with water. Black, swirling water.
And I'm drowning.
You're home now, and you beeline for your room.
Sitting on to floor, you think of everything your therapist said to do, and try to write.
After sitting for what seems like hours, you have an empty page in front of you.
Because how can you articulate what you're feeling? Sure,
You can hear it in your head,
Feel it in your chest,
Under your skin.
But how are you supposed to write what you feel,
When you can't decipher what you feel in your head?
How can it seem so simple,
And so complex?
How in the world can you break so easily,
Yet everyone is always saying how strong you are?
How are you supposed to kiss the wounded parts of yourself and heal,
When everyone around you keeps cutting them back open?
How can you be screaming so loud,
And yet no one can hear you?
How?
