A little girl knocked on my door today, flower bouquet in her hands and a smile plastered on her face as though its the only emotion she knows. She steps foot in without asking permission to. Her hair falls down the side of her face and I was trying hard to hide the tears that were streaming down mine. She didn't hide her curiosity
“Why are you sad?”

When her eyes looked up and met mine I felt ashamed that I could be uncovered by a girl who I seemed to recognize but couldn't quite pin out the memory of where. She hands me the flowers and their scent brings me back to a time that seems so clear, yet so distant.
I tell her I’m not sad, but rather sick. And the smile drops from her face as she says “Mommy says that too”

It woke a spark in the hollow of my mind to a time where I used to hear the same thing. Flashed back to a time where the only music I heard was the crashing of pans in the kitchen and the fall of hard liquor into small cups that were guzzled before I could taste them. The sound of yelling in the bathroom and glass being broken at 1am when the world was asleep. The whimpering of a small voice coming from the dusty couch in the family room, where our family never gathered in. The stumbling of my fathers intoxicated feet as he came up the stairs to pass out in a bed that was made for two. I remembered her skin stained purple, her eyes shot red and asking her “Mommy, why are you sad”. And with delicate hands that enfolded my face, she barely looked me in the eyes as she said “Darling, I’m not sad; but rather sick”

In that moment I realized that sometimes, they’re the same thing.
My throat dried up and hands felt numb as I grabbed the girl by the shoulders
“What’s your name and where are you from”
The smile vanishes, her eyes meet mine; with one look she gives me the answer I already know.

But before I can tell her that I remember seeing her face when I looked into broken mirrors, before I can beg her to not get into the habit of turning her skipping rope into a noose, before I get the chance to say that love is not supposed to be fists to the skin, and rough hands around fragile necks;

I blink and she’s gone.

I told myself I recovered.
I told myself every day for a year.
I told myself to focus on the positives,
every single thing that could possibly spark some joy.
I reminded myself how alive I was every time I felt numb.
"You're stronger, better than it."

It wasn't until I was choking on sobs and finally feeling the rush that I realized what I had done.
I tried everything I could to feel alive again,
And it wasn't until I was covered in red that I did.

blink
now you're 5 years old again
waiting for mommy to sing to you and tell you everything will be okay
after scraping your knee on the drive way while running around
until daddy comes home from wherever he is

blink
now you're 10
mommy's leaving for work and you're crying so hard
because you don't want her to leave
you're not used to being around just daddy
because he's never usually home
so you run down the stairs but the doors already closed
and her headlights are pulling out of the driveway
and down the road she goes

blink
now you're 13
mom and dad are fighting again
you close your eyes and scream into your pillow to muffle the noise
but even the whistle from the train down the road
or the whooshing in your ears that sound like waves
from not eating in three days
can't quite the fighting

blink
15
you're eyes are glazed and heavy
and the smoke pouring from your lips tastes funny but
the walls are spinning and though you never liked carnival rides
it feels like one now as you sit on an uneven stool
in your best friends garage
and inhale the burning substance that makes things funny and
helps you forget about the impending argument
that's happening at home

blink
18
white toilet bowls and shaky hands
quickly you flush down the granola you forced down
that morning
before rushing out of the door before
dads new girlfriend could say hi
walking down the hallway
of the old apartment building
the tiles start to move
and its like you smoked that strange plant again
but this time the corners of the hallway are getting dark
and it feels like you've been walking for
f o r e v e r
so you grab the wall next to you
as the floor rushes up and everything goes
*black

I’ve never known an emotion like this.
One that makes my stomach flip.
My hair stand up.
My body turn to ice.
One that turns my mind to mush.
The constant static in my thoughts disappears and silence over whelms my being.
I can feel my stomach crawling up my chest and into my throat.
My planted feet become so weak as i try and grip so tightly on reality.
“It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real.” i keep chanting to myself, trying to find some glimpse of victory over this crippling impression.