The guidance counselor looks up from her stack of files and
lets out a sigh that says that last thing she needs is another student who is
having a mental breakdown.
"Alright, Ms. [insert last name here]. You might have an idea of why
I've asked you to meet me. "
I give her a blank look. (Of course I have an idea. But I pretend that I do not.)
"Your friends are worried about you. They said you have
been throwing away your lunches and that you've lost a lot of weight lately."
I say nothing.
She continues, "Alright. Um. Well, let's start there
then. Have eaten today?"
"Yes," I lie.
"Are you eating regularly?"
"Yes," I lie again.
She knows that I am lying.
I know that she knows that I am lying.
But she allows the lies anyway because neither of us wants
to go there.
"Good. Well, I just wanted to make sure that you were
doing okay. Are you? Doing okay, I mean?"
"Yeah, I am. I promise," I say, mustering up every
ounce of energy that is left in my body so she won't hear my voice break or notice
the fatigue that is threatening to overtake me. "But thank you for
checking. I'm so lucky to have people around me who care. I think I was just overwhelmed
with classes and family drama. But I really am okay. I'm taking care of
myself."
I give her my most convincing I-am-doing-amazing-but-aren't-you-just-the-sweetest-for-worrying-about-me
smile.
She smiles back and her shoulders relax some. One less angst-ridden high school
student to worry about.
"Great. Good. I guess that's it then. If you ever need
to talk to someone, you know where my office is. You can stop by anytime."
I nod and smile at her reassuringly, "I will."
I will not.
I will go to my locker and throw out the lunch that I
carefully made that morning for my parents' benefit.
I will go home and run until I can't breathe and then run
some more.
I will go to bed tonight and feel my ribs pushing through my
skin. My stomach will burn and beg me for food. My heartbeat will feel too slow
and I will wonder if I will wake up in the morning.
She will go home tonight and lay on the couch with the TV
droning in the background, her balding husband heating up leftover mashed
potatoes, and her two screaming toddler sons throwing Legos at each other.
Most likely she will forget about this conversation
completely.
I am dying.
I am lying.
I am dying.
I am lying so that
I can die.
I do not like
to lie. I am good at lying. But I do not like it.
The Thing likes it when I lie.
The Thing is all that matters. I have to protect it, even if
it means lying to everyone in my life.
The Thing / The Monster / The Darkness
I get up and walk out of her office. As soon as I'm out of
the counselor's sight I collapse against the wall and take three deep breaths
so that I don't faint. I tug down the sleeves of my baggy sweatshirt to cover my
bony wrists. My nail polish is chipping and the bluish tint of hypothermia is showing through and I can't stop shivering, oh god, I can't stop shivering. All
I want is to feel warm again.
A small whisper somewhere inside of me I want out / please help me / I don't want to die / I don't want to die
The Thing laughs. I feel sick.
It's so hard to think. Everything is gray and heavy and I
miss having energy. I miss food. I think of spaghetti and ice cream and the casseroles my
grandma makes and NO. STOP IT. I cannot let myself go there
because if I do, I will lose control completely.
I miss the time before The Monster was
in my head. I can barely remember it anymore. My short sixteen years of life has been cut cleanly into
two sections: Before The Thing and The Thing.
Maybe someday I will cut a third: After The Thing.