The day is like any other day
At least it starts like that
But then the weight in my stomach drops like a dead weight
And I know that this day will be anything but OK.
After the ball drops, the bird in my chest starts to flutter
Like a magnet it is pulling me away from where I am
Like an impatient toddler
As the toddler tugs
My chest becomes tighter
Trying to contain the toddler
But that only pulls me more
My brain tries to calm the bird
But it too is stuck in its own cage
My brain rattling around like a mint in a tin
Ricocheting around in my head
It is only telling me one thing,
But we’re just sitting in class, I say, Why does this have to happen?
Because! My brain proclaims.
Why? I whine.
Because something very bad is trying to kill you.
I look around.
Just get out of here.
SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP.
NO YOU HAVE TO LEAVE.
NO I DON’T.
THEN PROTECT YOURSELF.
HOW? AND AREN’T YOU SUPPOSED TO BE ON MY SIDE?
I AM DOING THIS TO SAVE YOU.
...What is going to happen to me?
No… that can’t--
Oh but it will.
The battle between me and myself
I am the co-pilot of my own body.
I try breathing,
Breathing slowly only makes the magnet pull more.
I try to stop frantically shaking my leg,
Stopping only makes my heart hammer more.
There is no escape.
The eyes feel as if they are being shot through me like a harpoon,
They are whispering about you.
No… that’s stupid.
Okay, don’t tell me I didn’t tell you so.
When people talk,
I nod and laugh,
Not entirely listening to what is being said,
But just enough so I won’t be caught.
“Julia, are you okay?”
Crap, they know.
“Yeah… yeah I’m all good. Just excited to leave.”
“Me too, school sucks.”
They know you are crazy, you are like a witch in the 1700’s. Brain says.
That’s very dramatic.
But it’s true.
I wish there was a way to escape this.
A big glowing neon sign:
COME OVER HERE IF YOU WANT TO FEEL LIKE YOU AREN’T GOING INSANE!!
I would take that exit right away.
If it meant running 20 miles I would sprint the whole way.
I would do anything to not feel like this,
To finally have control over myself.
To feel as though people were not constantly talking about me,
To be able to ignore the sense of sinking dread,
Sliding down my chest like tar.
If I could get a quick fix I would.
Maybe someday an angel will come down
And remove me from this sense of zero control.
But until then,
I will try.
I will try to get better.
Because I know the difference between being psychotic
And being fine
And I won’t let myself stop trying.
I will not allow it.