I draped a blanket across my window because my black curtains were allowing too much sun to file in.
I lit inscence which reminds me that I’m home, reminds me that my brother isn’t here.
I laid down, allowed my legs to stretch. Regretfully told them they were not allowed to curl up against me.
I just want to be unconscious for a little while.
I just need a rest. Only for some time, only for some time.
All of my teachers tell me that I can dig myself out of this rut that I was buried in, but they don’t know what goes on inside my head.
No one does but me and whoever is willing to listen
but no one really is
or at least, I tell myself no one really is.
Once people get to a point where they have heard your entire body saying things that make it shake and whine and cry, they build up fear.
They build up a wall. Because no one wants to take care of a shaking, whining, crying mass of anxious feelings and running mascara and bracelets that only feel comfortable if they’re on the left wrist because that body has been given everything on it’s right side and now the owner of it feels the need to repay the left.
There are wind chimes all over my floor.
I hear the sound of cars flying by my window, and birds driving by my head.
I can’t help but wonder how large the sky has gotten.
In this place, in this town, in this neighborhood, in this bed and underneath these blankets, I cannot help but feel as though the sky has shrunk around me.
I can feel its’ pressure on my chest, crushing my lungs.
This is when I go to a psychologist, and she sends me home.
I go home and I beg mother for lights that will make it look like I am surrounded by fairies, because everyone loves fairies.
I want to look up at night and realize that I’m not alone.
That these little creatures will always be there, even when I can’t see them.
But I need to be reassured that they’re real.
I need to be reassured that everything is real.
I need you to tell me you love me.