on this day.

believe in me because i can't.

xvii. BELIEVE IN ME BECAUSE I CAN'T.

i dreamt of a lot when i was younger. it was my eighth birthday the first time i visited new york city. i found my heart in the strangers around me, my breath taken away by the imagery of me climbing up the buildings. bright yellow taxis drove quickly past me and the people didn't seem too friendly. but i loved it and that's all that truly mattered to me. my dream of living in the big city still lives on, do you believe me?

at ten, a boy with sunkissed skin chased me on the playground. his giggle was infectious, the cold outside causing our cheeks to grow red. he tackled me onto the ground, as boys do, and yelled over and over, i got you! i watched the pom pom to his striped hat flop around, his fingers poke at my sides. my best friend, someone i never desired before, left a light in my eyes that i had never seen before. my first crush, do you believe me?

thirteen rolled around all too quickly. my body began to grow and stretch in ways i wish it hadn't. pink blush and concealer came about, meant to make me look dolled up, the way boys liked it, but i put it on to hide how tired i was, how puffy my eyes were from last night's crying. i thought about insecurities i had never touched before, wrapping fingers around thighs, pushing at my crooked teeth hoping they'd be fixed overnight. it was then, in the year of twenty fourteen, i was diagnosed with depression. it was the first of many that i thought of dying, do you believe me?

it was sixteen when my mother suggested therapy. disappointments lead to trails of crimson cuts, ouch, yea i'll tell you it hurts, but it's perfect for nights where you feel everything and nothing all at once. a dog of my own, a black pug is all i've ever wanted, but months passed and she said no. my sister's cat gave birth to a litter, a chubby crossed eyed kitten looked up at me one morning as i went to feed them. when i asked if i could keep her for myself, this was the first yes i had heard in a while. i kept her tucked close, woke up to morning cuddles, kisses with milk covered whiskers. she lasted two weeks, dying when i was gone away at school one day. i cried until i fell asleep, hoping maybe i'd awake to her by my side. it was after this that my mother took me to a person with a degree on how to cure her fucked up daughter's mind. she asked me how i was. how am i? i wanted to show her all the lines that covered my ankles, ask if she's ever felt so empty, she could float to the sky, pop easily on a thin branch, fall back down to hell feeling heavier than the day she was born. tell her that it was a dream of mine to take the steering wheel of my mother's car, drift off down the cliff at the end of my road, pray that i didn't forget to unbuckle my seatbelt, fly like the birds out the front window like i've always crossed fingers for. but i mutter, i'm fine.

do you believe me?