In. Out.

Choke back tears.

Choke.



“How was your day?”

“Good. How was yours?”

“Good.”



“Why didn’t you say anything earlier?”

(don’t know how)

(so much happens in a day)

(not important)

(i’ll get over it)

“I dunno.”



I know grades don’t really matter.

Nineties are like drugs,

once you start you can’t stop,

withdrawal hits you like a truck.



“What did you get?”

“Ninety seven.”

“Oh, that’s not that bad.”

“But what if it takes down my average?”

(I shouldn’t eavesdrop.)

(need to finish this problem)

(four months late)

(one ******* question)

(what the hell is wrong with me)

(ask for help?)

(too late)

(oh god)

(please don’t let the bell ring)




In two three four

Hold two three four five six seven

Out two three four five six seven eight



(don’t cry)

(too late)

(please stop looking)

(what’s wrong with me)

(i want to disappear)

(i’m sorry)

(friends?)

(...friends?)


“Did you write any more?”

“...no.”

“Oh. I guess it’s a busy time of year.”

“...yeah.”

“Well….have a nice evening.”

“Yeah, you too…”

(trash)

(trash)

(what was i thinking)

(so cocky)

(don’t want to open that doc ever again)

(too sensitive)

(never go anywhere)

(not cut out for this)



“How did your exam go?”

“...better than I was expecting.”

“Good!”

“Yeah. Thanks mum. Love you.”




(no music?)

(can’t believe)

(can’t vote)

(strike?)

(strike!)

(strike?)

(possible?)

(can i?)

(would it work?)

(no.)

(can’t)

(too weak.)

(try?)

(Try?)

(TRY?)

(as if life couldn’t be more complicated-)




“We have to get Ethel out more. We can’t stop walking her because Gunther can’t-”

(Gunther)

(Gunther)

(good boy.)

(stay.)

(stay by me.)

(just for a bit longer.)

(please)

(not him, please god, not him)

(god?)

(let me keep my boy)

(Stay.)

(Stay.)

(Stay.)



“We still on?”

(I dunno, are we?)

“Maybe after exams.”

“Sometimes people drift and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

(shut up, Shut Up, SHUT UP)

“I can cover you for the movie.”

“Thanks! I’ll pay you back, I promise.”

“I’m just happy that means you can come.”

(alone)

(hello?)

(do you still care?)

(i do.)

(i miss you.)

(do you miss me?)



(don’t break)

(don’t want to go back)

(brave face)

“Crying is okay.”

(?)

“It doesn’t seem like you’re handling it-”

(???)

“Do you need to go and see-”


(?!?!?!?!?!)




In. Out.

Choke back tears.

Choke.

When you’re a little kid, the first question you’re asked is always “What do you want to be when you grow up”.

Almost as if we have a choice.

We’re told to follow our dreams.
We’re told the world is our oyster.
We’re told that everything will be okay.
Lies.

Our life is already planned out for us.

Step One: Get good grades.

Ignore the anxiety howling at your door like a tornado.
Get over the flooding depression, drowning you slowly.
Ignore the large burdens slowly breaking your back, as admitting weakness won’t get you any sympathy.
Spend your hours studying each subject for your standardized testing, getting exercise, going and doing extracurriculars, volunteering, working a minimum wage job, cutting out time for the friends you didn’t have time to make, and don’t forget the homework.
Do all this and perhaps you might pass your classes.
Perhaps you’ll make honor roll.
Perhaps you’ll get into college or university.
Perhaps people won’t think you’re a failure.
Perhaps.

Step Two: Get a stable job.



Step Three: Get married.

Step Four: Have kids.

Because that’s the only reason you’re here, right?
To leave something worthwhile behind?
But there’s only one way to do it correctly.
You spend the first two years dedicating all of your time to this squirming thing, waking up at 3:00 AM to appease it’s crying, but you don’t care because you think it’s the one thing in the world you’ll love unconditionally and you know it loves you back but you aren’t thinking about that when you’re overtired and it’s bawling and you can’t do anything and you just want a few minutes to think.
It will get better from here, right?
The next ten years are spent driving from house to house, soccer field to soccer field, recital to recital trying to fit it all in.
Never really looking.
Never really seeing.


Step Five: Retire.

Step Six: Die.

I want you to close your eyes and imagine something for a second.
I want you to wander down the twisted path of your life, until you arrive at your exit.
And I want you to stand inside the gate.
Not quite in, not quite out.
Your final moments.

The autumn has finally blown over into winter, a chill coming down your spine.
Everything around you is fading, and each passing moment feels like an eternity.
The fabric of life is slipping through your fingers, and you can’t hold on. You aren’t strong enough.
So you just want to let go.

Let’s say you are lying in a hospital bed, a trail of wires dangling from your wrist, disinfectants stinging your nose.
Let’s say you know why you are here, and you know what is coming, and you’re scared.
Let’s say that you are exiting the trail, and knocking on death’s door.
I want you to imagine the people around you, saying goodbye.
I want you to imagine your farewell thoughts.

Will you be thinking about that dream school you never got into?
Will you be thinking about your sub count on youtube?
Will you be thinking about your ****** job that just managed to pay the rent?
Will you be thinking about that year when you felt like you were all alone, and nobody cared?
Will you be thinking about all those dreams you never chased?
No.
You won’t.

You’ll remember the way your kid smiles when she’s happy, lighting up a room.
You’ll remember dancing in the kitchen like an idiot with the one you love.
You’ll remember the student who was failing until you touched their life.
You’ll remember playing in the backyard with your sister.
You’ll remember arguing over Marvel movies with your brother.
You’ll remember the crazy adventures you had with your best friends.
You’ll remember hugs from your grandparents.
You’ll remember the sound of the ocean, filling you up with joy.
You’ll remember your dad, patiently teaching you how to cook even though you aren’t any good.
You’ll remember your mom, attempting to show you how to pitch a ball.
You’ll remember the sun on your back and the wind at your feet, beckoning you forward.
You’ll remember that person who always knew how to make you smile.
You’ll remember the homeless man who laughed in joy when you provided him with a meal.
You’ll remember the confident smile of the kid with stage fright as he flawlessly recited his lines.
You’ll remember the way the trees sang their summer song in the forest, saying their final goodbyes.
You’ll remember your grandchildren’s eyes, which seem all too familiar.

And because of this, they’ll remember you.

Here we are again.
This same question.
Why are you crying?
You ask me the question to know the answer.
Not to help.
Some days your curiosity overrules your empathy.
Hasn’t it ever occurred to you that maybe comfort could help?
No.
It probably hasn’t.

I cry because I can’t speak.
My words get caught in my throat until I have to swallow them down like every other thing I’ve ever felt.
Some days emotions feel like marks of an outcast.
Some days my sadness makes you angry.
Is it because you don’t know why?
Does it scare you?

I cry because of you sometimes.
Putting words in my mouth until you make me choke so much that I can’t try to make you understand.
It would never work anyhow. You wouldn’t listen.
“You’re just being argumentative”
“Just breathe”
“Tell me why”
“You’re fine”
“Clean yourself up”

I cry because the way you’ve become accustomed to my pain hurts me deeper than any petty cut caused by some insignificant thing.
I once told you that I thought I had depression.
You replied with “I know.”
You knew.
You.
Knew.
You didn’t help me find my way home.
You left me to drown in my own icy black waters.
I had to claw my way back out.
You just walked away.
I’m trying to understand why.
Was there a reason?

I cry because I don't deserve to.
I know I should be happy.
I know I should be okay.
Why am I falling when I should be flying?
There are people out there who won’t be eating today.
There are people who are mourning today.
There are people who lost everything today.
I am not those people.
Why am I crying today?

I cry sometimes.
Letting my insecurities and fears and anger out of their cages.
Letting the vultures peck away at me until I’m dry and empty.
Lowering myself back on to ground level.
Letting logic regain control of the ship as the storm settles.
Making a bit of room for laughter at the table.
Condensing the voluminous emotions into a simple conclusion that I can carry in my pocket for when I need it.
Why is that a bad thing?

I once knew a girl in fifth grade.

I once knew a girl who was lonely.

I once knew a girl who was unfairly treated.

I failed to be her friend.


Fifth grade science projects.

A chatter of excitement throughout the room.

A month’s worth of work and dedication.

Presentation day.

A stream of exoplanets and nebulae, astronauts and rockets.

Do any of you recall?

I recall the girl who got torn down.


Standing at the front, small and frail, nervous already.

She thought she had done enough.

I watched as kind, caring, wonderful people tore down her esteem mercilessly.

Myself included.

Asking questions she couldn’t answer,

Nobody had anything good to say,

But that didn’t stop them from saying bad things.

Without her hearing.

Because she wasn’t enough.


She sat on the bus, alone,

Because she wasn’t enough.

Nobody wanted to help her,

Because she wasn’t enough.

People acting like her existence was a personal insult,

Because she wasn’t enough!

Not a caring smile came her way,

Because she wasn’t enough!!

She had to swim in an ocean of rumors,

Because she wasn’t enough!!!

SHE LEFT AN OPPORTUNITY THAT SHE DESERVED BEHIND,

BECAUSE NOBODY THOUGHT SHE WAS ENOUGH!!!


I once knew a girl in fifth grade.

She’s found a group of caring, wonderful friends.
I wonder if it’s enough?

I once had a home.
I once could live happily.
I was once whole.
In the blink of an eye, that was all changed.
I cry now.
I am blinded by my own thoughts now.
I am someone else now.
In the blink of an eye, I was ****** into a world where nothing matters.
I now swim through life, not caring.
It's funny how the word carefree is always used positively.
My head pounds with headaches.
I force myself to keep going, not knowing why,
wanting to give up.
People see me cry sometimes.
They wonder.
They try and help.
They try their hardest to be empathetic.
They are good people.
I may live a good life.
I may have it better than many people.
Forget may, I do have a great life.
But I can't seem to forget my sadness.

I have been here for almost two years.
It is like a home away from home.
My friends, colleagues, my peers,
Now I must say goodbye.
I have great memories of you all
stored up inside.
Now whether I see you in two months
or two years,
Remember that I will miss you.
You are all very original and you are all being missed right now
But on to the next adventure,
filled with danger, villainy and annoying siblings,
now it is time to embrace the magic of summer.
Time for fireworks and beaches,
Time for the woods and silence,
Time for the greatest ways to discover,
freedom, flight, boredom.
Maybe saying goodbye isn't that bad...