My Professor told me to leave his class room. I lifted my bowed head “Huh?”
"Leave my classroom", he said. “I don’t tolerate tweeting, texting, snapping, sexting, in my lectures. So if you’re going to be on your phone be on your phone elsewhere.”
I didn’t have the energy to rebuttal “Professor Hughes, I wasn’t looking at my phone.” I simply did as I was asked and left.
Funny how my head was bowed because I was looking down at the scars I carved into my wrists this morning laying in bed eyes opened body still demons anchoring my chest feeling pressed into my mattress mumbling through the paralysis “I have to go to class today I can’t skip again” “But your bed is so warm and you’re a ******* anyway” my depression taunted “If you would have just swallowed that bottle of pills last night like I told you we wouldn’t be in this mess”
As I’m walking back to my dorm, the parallel of last night and this morning smacks me like a wooden bat to the back: Life is like a college class; you don’t always want to be a part of it, yet alone participate. Sometimes just showing up is all you can muster up that day. And you might do something or even nothing and someone who doesn’t like that something or nothing will come up to you and say, why don’t you just leave?