Just a cut.
Just a scratch.
"What's that mark?"
"Oh, I fell."
Just an excuse, just a lie.
But even if I heal from a thousand cuts, how do I heal from all these emotional scars within me?
The winter holidays felt like an eternity. A dammned eternity. A dark tunnel, at the end of which was... just more darkness.
Perhaps in these days blood rushed through my veins, air floated in my lungs, and yet I couldn't decipher if I was alive.
Merely speaking when spoken to, rotting in bed all day and watching re-runs of old black and white french films was all I did. For a fortnight, I was an object in a room, with tired eyes and hollowed cheeks.
And it's scary how much of a solace I found in those fourteen days.
It's like I was getting comfortable with withering away, dissociating from everything around me. The cold winter had seethed into the veins of my heart and I had let it.
I didn't wanna go back to school.
My parents barely understood my sudden change in behaviour. They were hyper focused on Maeve's tennis tournament in the upcoming week and wanted nothing to ruin that plan.
Not even their other daughter.
At the very dawn of my puberty, I used to find myself laughing at scenes where characters on tv had to take an online survey or read through articles to understand what they were going through. It was diabolical to me.
'How can a person not know what's going on with them anymore?'
It was idiotic, so stupid.
One such night during this period, I found myself going down a rabbit hole of articles, labeled "10 signs you might have depression.", "Are you having suicidal thoughts? If so, what can you do?" and my most favourite of all, "Are you really depressed or just faking it for attention?"
Like that's any less of a mental illness.
Who would I even fake it for? Who would fucking care if I was actually withering away and thinking of giving it all up?
Who would care if one day I just....
My mind had gone from being my comfort place to a really dark dungeon. I hated it here. I wanted it to just... stop.
I wanted everything to stop.
And yet still, on the morning of 18th January, I decided to give it another try.
To give life one last chance.
And if it took me back again, I'd never speak of its nemesis again.
__________
With slow, hollowed steps, I walked towards Class 11 E, my mind reeling the moments from last year again and again. I pushed pause on my thoughts as I reached the third floor, drawing in a deep breath before taking determined steps towards my impending doom.
From afar, I saw that the door was ajar and a few of my classmates were busy chatting amongst themselves. I chewed the insides of my cheeks as I took three steps inside and stopped in my tracks.
Everyone's eyes were on me.
Feeling terribly self conscious, I swallowed visibly and made my way towards my desk. The little chit-chat that had been in class previously had now subdued. It's as if they were waiting for something to happen before they resumed.
