I hold six hospitalizations in my pocket like broken bones. pulling them out for stories later, screaming, ‘look how broken I am.’ screaming, ‘I am broken open and leaking, can’t you see can’t you see.’ screaming, 'I don’t want to be like this but I do, I do. this is all I have ever known, can’t you see can’t you see.’
another patient makes fun of me when she finds out how many times I’ve been here. calls me crazy. this isn’t her first time either but maybe she can see that this is all I’m ever going to be. drowning in this. willingly taking gulps of water in. screaming, 'don’t you dare pull me out.’ screaming, 'the water holds me better than air ever could.’ screaming, 'let me drown let me drown. can’t you see that the sea is ready to take me and I am willing to drown.’ screaming, 'even if I try to tread water, it always sucks me back under. it hurts less if I just let it, can’t you see can’t you see.’
you’ve been here before, everyone says. I’ve been here before, I reply. we all ignore the way I beg them to let me die in the nighttime. we all ignore the way I won’t remember it the next day. we all ignore the way I keep pretending to get better. we all ignore the way everyone keeps pretending that that’s something I can ever be.