Maybe for some

High school is a dream.

A dream of burning kisses behind closed doors and beautiful swishing prom dresses as they dance the night away.

For others, perhaps it's a daze from one hour to the next.

Every hour a new one filled with jokes and loud laughter in between bites of a sandwich.

For me?

For me, it's 6 AM mornings with purple, crescent-shaped bruises stamped under drooping eyes, crumpled paper half finished and shoved in a random folder.

It's skipping breakfast, lunch, and sometimes dinner because what's the point if I'll still feel empty?

It's googling homework answers because every hour blurs into each other, barely distinguished between each other by the hollow feeling that's accompanied with each bell, so why bother trying to pay attention?

It's a burning sadness followed by empty numbness because I failed the latest quiz or test, but knowing I couldn't bring myself to study even if I knew how.

For me, it's the fear that worms its way into my throat, settling heavy in my stomach as I realize one of my few friends isn't in today.

Did they not want to come in?

Are they sick?

Did they sleep in?

Did they give in to the pressure of school and **** themselves because there is no other way out of this hell?

D o  t h e y  r e a l i z e  h o w  m u c h  w o r k  t h e y ' r e  m i s s i n g ?

The stinging cuts on my ankle whisper that they shouldn't care.

I know otherwise.

High school is the pills that sit on my dresser, long forgotten and still rattling with every shift, reminding me that it could all stop.

But, they are wrong.

It never stops.

I know that every moment I spend in a hospital is another I could be spending on missed work.

I know that every meal I force into my stomach is another missed working opportunity.

But, I know what I say doesn't matter.

It won't matter.

It never does.

Unless it is typed in Times New Roman 12 pt. font.