We Know Better

Dissociated

When I wake up the next morning, I can already tell that today is going to be worse than others. It is almost like I cannot actually tell if I am awake or not. I go through the motions of getting ready and my hands are shaking so hard as I try to put my hair into a ponytail that I go into my mother's room to beg her to do it for me. When she asks me what is wrong, I make up a lie about not feeling well. It is not really a lie, but I do not tell her that I have no idea why I do not feel real today.

She questions whether I am well enough to go to school today, and I know the right answer is no. Almost any other day, I would jump on the chance to skip school, but today is when I have my most important classes. To miss anything would feel like being put a week behind. But I will not lie and say that the chance of seeing Brendon has nothing to do with my desire to go to school. I hate it. I do not want to be excited to see him. I want to finish my senior year of high school, get through summer, and then go to college. I do not want to make any more friends or form any more ties. I do not want to idolize and idealize him just because he is being nice to me.

My mother drives me to school, because I am not sure that I can do it safely by myself. As I sit in my math class, I scribble down the notes, I think, without really even seeing them. When I look at the pencil in my hand, I do not recognize it as my own hand. Part of me panics that I do not even look like myself, so how is anyone supposed to know that I am me, especially him. The other part does not feel a thing. It is like part of me has been switched off. The people I know in that class have to say things two or three times before I even realize that someone is saying something to me, and then they have to say it a few times more for me to try to process it.

During break, I bury my head in my arms and hope to God that everything stops being so confusing. When Alessa sits down next to me, she leans down to my ear and asks me if I am okay. I tell her that I feel like shit. She does not say anything else, but she does scoot close next to me and her hand rests on my back as she soothingly rubs it. It makes me feel a little better, her hand is a little something to remind me that I am here and that I am real. It is a hard concept to hold onto though.

The bell for the next period rings and she gives me my stuff, but stops me before I head to my class on autopilot. She puts her hand on my cheek and looks me in the eye. It takes me a minute to focus.

"Alaina, if it is too hard to be here right now, go home please. I can call Momma to come pick you up if you want me to," she is referring to my mother with the name most of my friends use to refer to her. That is my mom: mother of all and to everyone.

"I know, thank you. I might go at lunch." I manage out, and I hope it comes out coherent.

"Don't push yourself too hard, I love you," she reminds me before she pulls me into a hug, "If you want me to call Momma, just text me." She offers again, knowing that my next class would be a hard one to make a call during. Then we part ways.

During my Bio class the people at my table are trying to have conversation, and I can tell that they uncomfortable with how out of it I am. It upsets me. Knowing that I am making them uncomfortable adds a layer of anxiety to the empty panicked mess I am right now. Listening to my teacher's voice feels like trying to hear under water. I am not really sure how far into the class I get before I go to the teacher and ask her to let me go to the nurse's. When she says okay I grab my stuff and thank whoever it is at my table that offers to get me the notes later. When I get into the nurse's she asks me a few questions and I answer them in the best way possible. The end result is that she lets me lay down on one of the cots after I have made a call to my mother.

Before I close my eyes, I text Alessa that I called my mom to pick me up by lunch time. It is like there are a million thoughts going through my head, but I cannot grip one long enough to make sense of anything. I think lunch time starts, but I am not actually all that sure of the amount of time I have been laying here. Irregardless, the nurse comes into the back room and asks if I am okay enough to sit in the front waiting area for my mother who I so desperately hope is here soon. I am not sure if I respond to her, but I do get up and move. I try to focus on counting in my head as I sit in the chair with my face in my hands. I get to eighty-five when I feel my mother's hand on my shoulder and hear her voice in my ear, part of me wonders if I am hallucinating it and I desperately beg it to shut up.