No one likes an ending,
but without an ending how
can you call a beginning a beginning?
There is no birth
without the shadow of death
nor death without remembrance of the beginning.
To remember is to forget,
and vice versa,
for no detail is spared but at the expense of another,
deeds forgotten,
friendships faded,
the glint of an ending reflecting a beginning.
And sometimes we can't predict
what beginning we'll see,
thrown back at us in those last seconds,
be it shadow or reflection or a scene in our mind's eye,
so when the nights are too short
and the days ahead longer than we can know,
beginnings fade to endings
through darkness and light,
and sleep is the title
which comes before the beginning.

I can barely bear to talk to anyone,
so focused am I on my work,
night after night staring down the computer screen,
day after day lost in books,
any information is a chance to get distracted,
any communication is a snap back to the present.

"Are you alright?" I asked.
"Pardon?  You're a bit behind on that one," said the blue-boxed response.
"I know.  I'm behind on everything."

I don't know how long it's been,
for no longer can I measure in hours spent asleep
nor hours spent procrastinating.
Every minute is either reading or not reading,
and I can say for certain only that I have more reading minutes to account for.

"It's fine.  You're fine."
It's never fine.
"I'm sorry. "

I don't know what time it is,
or how the rock in my hand made it across the room.
I run across to the curtained-off closet
and kneel down next to my forgotten projects,
wire and beads echoing past happiness.

"Why are you sorry?" asks the confused message.
"Because I was stupid.  I thought..."
No I didn't
"You're fine."

The room is blurry, fuzzy, shaking,
and I don't want to leave this corner of my closet.
I forgot I was wearing headphones but now
all I can think is the lyrics coming through
and they're not the cheerful kind,
they're the kind that let me cry for once,
at least till I get a grip.

"How was your day?"
It's got to have been days, weeks, months,
and I still avoid contact
"Hello?"
"Fun fact:  about 1% of the world population identifies as asexual."
If I don't respond she'll leave me alone
If I don't respond she'll know something's wrong
"Night."

The adults in the living room
don't bother to keep their voices down,
and I'm the topic of conversation
and they're both wrong.
The memory of the sensation (but not the act) of
stumbling around the yard, desperate for respite,
and of falling in front of my bed and sobbing
without knowing how I got there
is fresh in my mind.

"Maybe we advanced her too fast."
"She's never had an issue before and I don't see why her grade should be so low all of a sudden."

I know that mine is not the worst of situations.
Sleep deprivation and academic stress
are not unique problems,
and the blue message box tells stories from an imperfect existence,
but somehow I can not face my life
and I dwell in the green message box,
and in whatever else I can find to hide in.

"Are you up for a mission?"
I can't see straight, I'm so tired
"What sort of mission?"
"I'll share you the instructions.  I need some made up words."
I'm still at a charity astronomy show.
"As soon as I get home I'll hop on."
It's after 9:00 pm

I've spent nights staring at the message boxes
on my green Pantech's screen,
ready with a shoulder and a slap in the face
when I need a hand myself
because when you can't have help all you can do
to distract from your own trouble
is focus on someone else's.

"It's a cry for help."
"I get it but I can't emotionally connect to it."
"I'm sorry...  I'm getting too involved in this stupid story."
"No!  I'm just emotionally inept."
"I need help and trying to explain emotions to Abby is like talking to a brick wall."
"Sorry... I'll just go to bed now.  Night."

There's a spider on the ceiling
so I have yet another excuse not to sleep
as if I needed one.
I want to be there for everyone so no one will ever have to be there for me,
but of course,
I need something to be there for me.*

"Do you have your history book on you?"
"What chapter, what topic, and what format?"

This week started on Thursday,
or,
since it started the week,
Monday.
It was as miserable as a Monday.
A C on a math test- my worst ever.
Then debate after school,
running fact after fact,
knowing more than anyone but unable to think fast enough.

Friday was Monday, too.
I ran crying out of one class,
walked sobbing from another.
"Too much pressure!"
I screamed at the trees, at the dirt,
as I ran,
fell,
stomped,
completely out of control across the backyard.
I've never had a breakdown before
but that was it.

Saturday was a Sunday,
with too much work and not enough time.
Volunteering and cleaning and a break
for twenty minutes before moving on to the next thing.

Sunday was Sunday, too,
and I never did finish that essay.

Today was Monday.
Sleep deprivation
piled on stress
piled on putting an entire planetarium show together
in three and a half days.
Five miles to the orthodontist,
five miles back,
and now my face hurts beyond the headache.

Tomorrow will be Tuesday,
and sort of Friday because there's no school Wednesday.
But it'll be Monday, too,
because I'll have nothing done
and be as useful as a dead turtle
from the exhaustion of this week of endless
Mondays.

If I had to write a suicide note,
right now,
what would it say?
I think it would go something like this:

Dear *(No, too cliche.  I don't want to put the blame on someone by mentioning them here),

I'm tired.  my eyelids are heavy and my toes are dragging below me.  I want to run, run far far away as fast as I possibly can.  But I won't.  I hate running.  So I'm going to stop now.  Stop running from everything and hiding from everyone and burying my head in books that I don't even care about anymore.  So here's what I have to say.

Don't make me a martyr.  I was not bullied, except by myself.  I'm not the victim of our school system or the government or some political agenda.  And I'm no advocate for self-righteousness, either.  I'm just a human who got too tired.   Too tired from staying up all night studying, writing speeches, researching arguments and arguing with people; living in this day and age is exhausting and I simply couldn't keep up.

To the one who knew me best I say this:  When you're flirting with Death (which I'm sure you are as I write this) you don't have to come visit me.  I'm still not convinced that I'll be there to be visited, and think of how it would crush the Tree Gremlin to know you could see me and she couldn't.  Plus I wouldn't know you.  Who knows anyone in the land of the dead?

To Tree Gremlin:  Marry your idiot.

To my family I have nothing to say; mine was a battle enacted beneath their noses, under their roof, in the tree behind their house.

To the debate team:  Get over your petty **** and write some arguments.  I spent the entire weekend writing and researching and collapsing twice from exhaustion and my team STILL lost.  Get your **** together and stop ******* around.

42, the Game, sodium hexametaphosphate, elf king, are you an insect, sea turtles, etcetera etcetera you've heard it all before, good bye and good luck.

~Abby

*This is why I'm glad I'm not writing this today;
I really have nothing of value to say.

Thursday is my night.
Both my sisters have dance class so I have the house to myself.
I have homework.
I have to take out the trash.

I have the most cheerful outlook I've had in weeks.

It seems a thousand pounds of sorrow
have just flown off my shoulders,
sprouting wings and going to pester someone else.

I took out the trash with a hop and a skip,
not even caring that I was still wearing shoes
(Mind you, I can't stand shoes).
As I spun in circles I "whoop"ed and "wee"ed
and the phrase,
"It's a great day to be alive"
leaped from my mouth,
spring boarding off my tongue and over my lips.

I returned to the empty house and kicked off my shoes.
I took a shower with the door open
and the lights on
(I normally keep them off).
I stood under scalding water,
burning away any residual sadness.

I returned to my room and found my spring pajamas.
Normally I shy from math,
hiding in history books
and chemistry worksheets,
but today I dove into the calculus questions,
pencil flying over differentials and derivatives.

Today was no different than any other day.
Except that today is Thursday.
My Thursday.

WHOOP!