In My Eyes

Chapter Thirteen

From childhood's hour I have not been

As others were—I have not seen

As others saw—I could not bring

My passions from a common spring—

From the same source I have not taken

My sorrow—I could not awaken

My heart to joy at the same tone—

And all I lov'd—I lov'd alone—

Then—in my childhood—in the dawn

Of a most stormy life—was drawn

From ev'ry depth of good and ill

The mystery which binds me still—

From the torrent, or the fountain—

From the red cliff of the mountain—

From the sun that 'round me roll'd

In its autumn tint of gold—

From the lightning in the sky

As it pass'd me flying by—

From the thunder, and the storm—

And the cloud that took the form

(When the rest of Heaven was blue)

Of a demon in my view—

--Alone, Edgar Allan Poe

        Bianca

Some days it's hard to exist.

I remember my past, all the things I've done and the things that have happened as a result, and I tremble with the fear that these thoughts won't let me live another day. I worry that my mind will lead me to take my own life.

When people tell me to go outside and get some exercise, telling me I'll get happier, I just want to cry. I want to scream and tell them how hard it is to have depression and PTSD. It makes me feel like I'm not normal. It makes me feel even weirder than people think I am.

Swirling thoughts, they just keep swirling and swirling. Around and around, my head never rests. That's when my anxiety reminds me it exists too, and my mind cripples.

Eat. Force yourself to get up. Get dressed, brush your teeth. It's as if everything I do is a command. Walk down the hallway. Go to first period. Sit and listen. Try not to worry about that test that you have tomorrow and everything else that's on your plate.

The safety of the classroom disappears. The thoughts of potential embarrassment and fear overrun my mind as I drag myself to the gym. You throw badly, you can't catch, you can't run. You're awful at sports. And yet, I continue walking.

Don't even bother.

Maybe if I don't do anything, they won't laugh.

Standing around, hoping, praying that the ball won't come my way. And yet it still approaches, closer and closer every moment. Move. I dodge the ball. It taps the wall. The people my teacher teamed me up with stare at me. I was supposed to hit it.

I can feel the eyes glued to my back as I walk to grab the ball in shame.

You're awful at sports.

I throw it to someone.

You throw badly.

Time drags on. Force yourself to eat lunch. Pretend like everything's okay. Socialize like a normal human being. Try to act like you're having fun.

The next class begins. I walk in. Sit. Look at all of them raising their hands. What are you doing? I write down some notes. Whatever, you'd just answer wrong anyways. I turn the page in my notebook.

Maybe if I don't raise my hand, I won't answer it wrong.

"How was your day?" Good. "Anything exciting happen?" No. Uneasiness, apprehension and stress build up. My world continuously crumbles down. The weight of everything wears me out. But my day? It was good.

Though I try my best to focus as I study for my big test, the only thing on my mind, ironically, is how much work I have to do. Instead of memorizing the vocabulary, I burn the fact that I'm going to fail this test in my brain.

Don't even bother.

I push my thoughts away and keep running towards my goal. Run. Run. Jog. Jog while gasping for air. Walk. Trudge. Trip. Get back up. Trudge. Trudge. trudge. trudge... tr-...

The finish line is mere footsteps away. Don't. I keep walking. Even. I'm almost there. Bother.

When I finally finish my homework and studying, I finally am able feel the calm, soothing nature of my bed, and the odd warmth of the dark. The tension is finally gone, and serenity floods over me, pulling me in and embracing me.

But the serenity was all a façade. You're going to fail your test. You're going to embarrass yourself. You'd just answer wrong anyways. Don't even bother...

You're a worthless piece of trash, why are you even alive? Don't even bother. Everyone hates you. And Drew...

Drew.

I can't even stomach hearing his name in my own head. I can't relive that pain again. I just can't.

I just.

Can't.

Seem.

To.

Wake up.

From.

This nightmare.