the day i get into college,
my mother says she is proud of me.
her eyes water;
her little girl is growing up.
my hands shake in the passenger seat.
my eyes water for different reasons.

the day i go back to therapy,
my mother says she is proud of me.
she cries again --
it's a family trait --
and holds me in her arms.
i wonder how she could ever be proud of a child who is scared of recovery;
a child whose only discernible feature is the anxiety rocking in their chest.

the day i move into college,
my mother says she is proud of me.
she says it's a big step forward.
she appreciates that i'm taking a step out of my comfort zone.
i want to tell her that it's my comfort zone that's adapting to this new place,
not me.
my comfort zone is nervousness and never-ending panic;
it's just searching for new things to worry about.
goodbye is so hard.

i spend my first few weeks of college in a panic induced state;
weeks blur into one another and i stay in my dorm whenever possible.
i skip meals,
because the cafeteria is a long walk across thin ice.
everyone's staring at me,
this obese baby deer,
learning how to walk on legs that are too meek.
i sometimes call my mother in tears;
she says she is proud of me.
it's so refreshing to hear that it hurts.
there are wounds beneath my elbow where i took out the rattling of my bones during a meltdown in my design class;
they itch underneath the bandaids as she reassures me:
she's proud of me.

i can only imagine the look on her face if she sees what i've done to myself,
the seven shallow scars underneath my elbow.
i haven't done that in years.
will she pull me out of school?
realize the pressures of living is too heavy for me to wear right now?
too heavy for me in five years?
too heavy forever?
the word proud is lost on her lips;
replaced by the word sorry.
how could she ever be proud of a child who can't make phone calls without crying at least twice?
how could she ever be proud of a child who hyperventilates when a cafeteria worker scolds them for not using tongs?
how could she ever be proud of a child who found a frenzied comfort in a blade?
mama, are you proud?