I wake up. I go to the bathroom, dazed still from my interrupted rest. I get ready. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter what I do because I still don’t think I’m good enough. I smile and go out.
When I’m at college I talk. I talk about myself too much. I’m not that interesting. Come on. Let the other person speak. But they don’t. I have to keep speaking. I have to. They don’t want to talk about themselves because they don’t want me to know anything about them. Yep. They think I’m weird. Here we go again.
“I… um… need to go,” they say. No. No. Don’t… don’t leave. I’m so sorry. I promise I will listen. I’m not weird. I’m just awkward… The most awkward person you’ve met.
“It’s okay,” I reply. I sit thinking about nothing. I take notes. My mind is blank. I’m trying to absorb all the information they’re giving me. It’s too much. I can’t do this. I want to leave. Mind blank.
I walk down the hall. I hear a voice saying my name softly next to my ear. I hear laughter; two voices I know very well. I hear a piano beautifully played so loud I my ears feel like they’re bleeding. I turn around. It’s all in my head. I breathe. Walk faster. Walk faster. Mind blank. White space white space all you see is white space.
I see my friends. They’re laughing. Too loud. Too loud. No. No. No. Too. Much. Noise. Too loud.
“Hey,” I whisper. They hear me, faces beaming.
“Oh my god, hi! How are you?” They greet me as if they’re happy to see me. Either they’re really good actors or they like me, I think but don’t quite believe either.
They seem to be joking about something I don’t really understand, but I muster a small smile to fit in. I don’t know if I don’t get it because I’m stupid or because I have no sense of humor. I talk. I don’t even know what I am saying before it’s out of my mouth. It… it didn’t sound weird in my head. But they think it’s funny and their joyous rumble startles me. I laugh with them; I still don’t get it. They’re laughing at me. Yes. They are. They are laughing at me because they think I’m stupid. They think I’m not good enough to be here. I need to go. I want to go. Let me go. No. I need to stay. I need to make friends. It’s not their fault I’m like this. I make my voice sound higher, and I make my smile even wider. I listen to them without saying much.
“I need to… um… do homework,” I say and speed off. The echoes of their laughter still resonating in my head. I write a message to my best friend saying I feel like I’m crazy and I can’t talk to people and I keep hearing voices and seeing things, saying I’ve been seeing people kill themselves when they’re not really there and how everyone gives me a mediocre explanation about how I’ve got a third eye or how God decided I can see “the beyond” or how I’m a medium… I’d like to tell them how I think it might be easy for them to make up all of these wonderful reasons why I’m crazy when they’re not the ones who keep questioning everything they do and feeling hands brush against their skin at night and they’re not the ones who feel afraid and sad and want to die all the time.
I go to the library and do homework. Sometimes I think I work so much because that’s when my mind goes blank much easier. So I work myself raw. I work until I’m so tired I can’t think of anything else. I work and when I finish up, I find more work to do because there’s always something else I can get started on. Do a little extra. It doesn’t hurt. You’ll have more free time later.
I look at my phone. I open up Instagram to see other people’s stories and then I review mine. Why would I say that? No wonder no one likes me. Delete it. Delete. Delete. No. I can’t delete it now. Too many people have seen it. Less people are seeing it now. They got bored. I’m boring. Why do I even post if no one cares? Even if I posted something interesting no one would care. I’m so useless. A failure. Why am I so awkward? Why do I always say the stupidest things? I put my phone down, but it vibrates and I see a message on the screen I don’t even open: I don’t believe you. For the first time I am on the edge of tears. I swallow and realize I haven’t eaten all day. I’m too fat anyway, I think and keep working even though I know I’ll eat twice what I’m supposed to later.
I smile through the rest of my day and when I get home I keep smiling. I smile and work until I only have exactly 5 hours of sleep. I tuck myself in. I close my eyes and feel like the whole world is talking at the same time. The room starts spinning. It won’t stop. Faster. My feet jerk because I feel like I’m about to fall. I hear someone call my name. There’s no one there. I won’t open my eyes. The whirlwind in my head feels endless and, I can’t breathe anymore.
what does a raven have in common with a writing desk.
What does a raven have in common with a writing desk?
WHAT DOES A RAVEN. HAVE. IN COMMON WITH. A. WRITING. DESK?!
Edgar Allen Poe, of course.