Thinking back to age seven,
I remember an early drive.
A hospital band, name over purple,
Mask on my face, laughing before a blink.
Suddenly, in a different room,
Flash of wheelchair, on living room floor.
Hearing the words for the first time,
Seven year-old me shrugged, smiled and told the world:
"I have Celiac Disease."
Now onto age nine,
I remember hellish days and pain.
A dark pink pill every day, but never knowing why.
Soon learning that a single pill,
Was to make my brain a certain way.
That same year, a sister left,
Forcing me alone with liars and theives.
From September to June, nights were spent,
In tears for not knowing why it was me,
But also not understanding my terrible ADHD.
Older now at age fourteen,
I remember the conversation at 5 am,
Waiting for the bus in December cold,
Hitting send on my confession,
Of how I want to die.
So many tears did I cry at fourteen,
All I had was that white plastic knife.
Two year later at sixteen,
I remember hands slipping,
To where they shouldn’t be.
And all the times my breath gives out,
Made limbs shake and thoughts scream.
With too many questions asked,
Time flew to a pristine office,
And all these thoughts flew to air,
Where finally this teen was told,
"You have anxiety."
