ecause it messed up my life so much, that theirs was never as bad. And there is a bit of truth in that. My life always felt over. Why? Because my grades were bad, because I had to take summer school when I didn’t belong? Because I felt like I was running on ice, and no matter how hard my “intelligent mind” worked, I wasn’t getting anywhere. I know what fake pity looks like. I know what’s it like when people pretend to have their hands tied around their back, but they really don’t want to help anymore. I’ve felt like, more times than not, like a lost cause. I thought “what’s the point?” and proceeded to sit in the corner, not bettering myself, for the rest of the day.Sometimes the pressure was too much. And even though depression feels externally greedy, it’s intensely gratifying. Those crying sessions were horrid, they were loud and unexpected. Like a heart attack, I never knew when the next one could strike. I didn’t know the next time my mind would go hazy, or when I’d have my next bad thought that would send me spiraling. SOPHOMORE YEAR: SECOND SEMESTERToday I didn’t want to get out of bed, and I allowed myself to feel that way. I didn’t care to change my clothes. I didn’t care to shower, to eat, to drink, to live, as some would say. But they’re just being dramatic. I didn’t even want to just stay in bed. Because bed was a horrible place. It was too silent.There’s such thing as too much silence. I could hear my thoughts screaming at me. Nothing could be more annoying yet peaceful than silence. It allowed for too much rumination. Yeah, definitely better to get out of bed. I get out of bed without an agenda, for once, because homework doesn’t sound appealing, and neither does eating. I got up with an idea to leave my room for a minute. I think about going to wander around the house, only to find myself curled up in a ball sobbing on the floor, wrapped in my sheets. I couldn’t get out, I couldn’t escape. I’m pathetic. “I just can’t do this anymore,” becomes my new catchphrase. My family is surrounding me. I feel guilty, I feel shameful. They’re just starting to realize this is a problem. Because now it looks like a problem. I don’t want to get up, I tell them from down here. From the way I’m sitting they’re looming over and literally looking down at me. Somehow, I’m back in bed. All goes dark.It’s a new day. The room is too quiet, because it’s a bit later, and everyone is at school or work. I silenced my phone because I didn’t want to talk to anyone of them.I lay there. And I lay there. And I lay there. The sun streams into my room, but today it seems too cheery. I struggle to pull my room’s heavy curtains, but after I was done, it was like the sun never arrived. I let myself wander back into bed, into a dreamless sleep. Actually, it was so dark, I couldn’t tell if I had slept. All I know is that I’m still here.It’s a new day. And this one started off badly. My mom came into the room, and I tell her, voice muffled by a pillow, that I can’t go today. She doesn’t wish to continue the pattern of question-and-answer, that accompanies such a statement, and neither do I. She hands me my pill, that I missed yesterday, and I drink the water with it because she’s watching. My sister comes into my room, fully dressed. She reminds me that this was the third day this week I wasn’t going to school. And astutely remarks that I look like hell. She leaves my bedroom door open. I really wish she’d closed it. It’s a new day, and I feel numb. I know I should try harder because my mom loves me and my dad loves me and that’s supposed to be all that matters. But I don’t want to. No scratch that, I can’t. My limbs work, but– no I’m not going to show you, thanks for being sympathetic. I should try for them. If not for me, for them, at least I promise myself I’ll let them in today, if they ask. If they call, I’ll answer. Because I know, it’s inconvenient.It’s a new day. I’m at school this time. People are talking to me, and I’m hearing, but I can’t listen. “I’m sorry can you repeat that?” becomes my new catchphrase, and I can tell they’re getting annoyed. I’m immediately frustrated, and angry tears spring into my view. Why can’t I comprehend what they’re saying, am I stupid? I excuse myself from the classroom, and I hide in the restroom until it’s time to go to to the counselor again. I’m sure she’s tired of seeing me or seeing me struggling, but she, of course, does her job, as always, and welcomes me in with open arms. I make sure my sobs are so quiet and contained that no one can hear me.It’s a new day. And it’s cold now. It reminds me of that hellhole in Delaware, but I can’t help but feel slightly relieved that everyone else is complaining about the cold. That day, I remember I slightly felt less alone, because people’s attitudes slightly matched mine. It stops. But life still goes on, people making plans with their friends, going on dates, studying for tests. They had lives that were continuing. I never felt like I had time for any of that, or that I had space left in my brain to care for anything else. I’m in bed again. It’s not even 7:00 p.m and it’s a Friday, and I can’t help but wonder if I’m doing this to myself. I realize I haven’t been participating. I think about getting up, but I stay in bed.It’s a new day. I’m at home. I’m in bed. I’ve stared stoically at the wall for hours. School isn’t even in session anymore, in fact, it ended yesterday. I hear child laughter outside, and I allow myself to listen for a minute. It’s pure and unadulterated, and clearly, happy. I try to remember the last time I laughed like that, but soon remember where I am, figure it must’ve been a long time ago. It’s stopped feeling like hell, bc now it’s just my life. I’m crying and I can barely remember why. But as soon as I start, I stop, what’s the point? I’ve just been doing this for too long, and I’m sick of it. But I’ve also been doing THIS for too long. Staring. Starving. Stewing. The realization doesn’t make me move an inch, this is just too much thinking for me right now. Thankfully, no one bothers me all day.It’s a new day. I got out of bed this time. A quick check on my phone let me know it was 10:43, kind of early for the ‘new me’. It’s a weekday, though I cannot remember which one. The thought of eating breakfast makes my stomach churn. To avoid an unpleasant greeting with my “overdue” homework, I decide to take a shower. Towel wrapped around me, I look in the mirror, head cocked as if I’m looking through someone else’s eyes. A regular ritual, usually the best way to get an introspective rare glance at myself. Sometimes, the doctor in me likes to think of it as a check-up.I made eye contact with the patient. She knows she looks unhealthy, and that everyone is worried about her weight. This was also the first shower she took in weeks. I look further inward and can make out a shell of a person in front of me. A sad person, or rather, a girl. A girl that has grown through her weakness and still has a part of her that radiates. Proudly–like the occasional sun on a rainy day. Beaming until the world knows you’re up for the job. She seems to say: “While sometimes I don’t want to live this life, I know I was meant to do greater things.”She offers me a stretched smile that feels tight on my face. I comply, of course, and I promise the girl in the mirror that I’ll do better.