I want to open up my mind
Dig in and pull it all apart
Spread it out on a table
And marvel at all the thoughts

Why do we have to grow up?
Why can’t we be like Peter Pan?

Grown ups lack creativity and imagination
They see blankets and pillows
While kids see forts, fights, and fun

They don’t understand
The joy of running through the sprinklers
Or why **** noises are so hilarious

They stress over everything
And are unable to be carefree

So why grow up?
I really don’t want to
And see no reason to

Unfortunately as I age it gets harder and harder
As I’m given more responsibilities
I have less time for blanket forts and sprinklers

But I’ll never grow up
Never

A classmate exclaimed
As Mrs. Ragan shoved
An Aladdin mug
In my face as I
Gained consciousness
During sixth grade
Art class

My first seizure

The depression started
Soon after

10mg of lexapro
Five thereapists
Three neurologists
Doctors ****

Middle school was
A Deep Dark
Dooming Depression
I had no friends
I hated everyone
And everything
But mostly
I hated myself

Wishing I had drowned
Or never woke up from
My first seizure

When I was three
My mom woke up
In the middle of the night
To me crying profusely
In my bathroom.
She freaked out and ran in,
Thinking I was terribly hurt.
“What’s wrong, hunny?!”
I sat on the sink counter
And turned my face from the mirror
To face her, wiping
The tears with my shirtsleeve
“Nothing,” I smile
“Just practicing my fake crying”

My Room has orange peels
from last week. Clothing
is piled on my chair.
The cupcake pan from
Lizzie’s birthday is balancing
between my makeup bag
and almost empty shower
supplies. Shirts are piled
atop my book shelf. There
simply isn’t room in the
drawers. The walls are
covered with posters,
pictures, and letters. Scarves
hang on the door and
my computer plays Van
Morrison. I sit in my
turquoise bed in an old
t-shirt and purple *******
writing poems.

I want love notes
I want big hands to fit in mine
I want our bodies to fit within one another like a puzzle
I want to know your fears
I want adventures
I want you to hold on to me and promise me that everything will be ok
I want sunsets and sunrises with me in your arms
I want to steal your gaze
I want to rant about my ****** or amazing day
I want breakfast for dinner
I want piggyback rides
I want shared hopes and dreams and aspirations
I want to be perfectly comfortable just sitting together with no need for words
I want music
I want picnics
I want them to be jealous of what we have
I want curled toes
I want laughter
I want you

I love to people watch
Imagining their lives and personalities
Inventing relationships
Creating their futures
I’m amused by the fact that
They don’t know I’m watching
They entertain and inspire me
While I sit up here unnoticed

I cover it up
I don't allow
Them to see
Me like this
Weak
Powerless
Hurting
I don't want
The meds
Or
The doctors
Or
The *******
I want to
Face it
Then bury it
Remaining positive
Praying it doesn't
Surface again
They'll never know
How it affects me
How it never went away
How I will always be
Depressed

My pain drenches me
I try my best to wring it all out
But I somehow remain damp

Yellow walls surround me as I
Crouch into fetal position
With my back against the toilet
My mother banging on the door
Yelling begging me to open
I drown her out with my sobbing

I was clinically depressed
But this was my first thought about
Suicide

I wanted to **** myself but
I was scared and didn’t know how
Instead I cried myself to sleep
With disappointment in myself
Sobbing within those yellow walls

I was four years old when I was *****.
I wore a pink jumper to my
first police investigation.
A skinny woman with a short
dark pixie cut showed me how to
make a paper airplane in a
room with a large mirror. You know,
the kind that the police have to
look in at the people in the
room without the people in the
room seeing them. After a while
I got used to police rooms, and
doctors’ rooms, and therapists’ rooms.
I was used to the same questions.
I never remembered though. I
didn’t have the answers that they
wanted. I didn’t remember
anything. All we had was the doctor’s proof
that it happened. I knew nothing.
We never found out who did it.
I’ll never know.

It is not your
fault
that I am going to
leave.
I left the dishwasher
running
and my laundry is
clean.
Please don't be
confused.
Don't be
worried.
Don't be
scared.
I won't be
alone.

Laura and I signed a
pact.
We have decided to
die
together because
no one
understands our
depression.
Our peers are
mean
and we see no
reason
in living when the
pain
could so simply
stop.

I'm sure you're
sad
and I know this is
rough,
but Mom, it had to be
done.
I promise that I'm
nothing
important and I won't be
missed.
Sure, some will shed
tears
and they'll have
regrets,
but all will be happier when
I'm gone.