I stare at the text like it has slapped me in the face: “How are you feeling today?” How am I feeling? Lost, confused, scared, and hopeless; like an utter and complete failure- I feel gone, I feel like I’m not me. Who am I? I blink twice and stare at the message again. I try to morph the words. I try to convince myself that they aren’t as pitying as they seem. Why are you so concerned? Why do you care? Why can’t you give me a reason to hate you so I can know why I’m so angry? But you don’t, and I can’t hate you- I don’t hate you because I love you and I hate that, and you love me and I love that and I’m so confused. I re-read the text: “How are you feeling today?” I sigh and text back fine with a huge smiley face. And I hate myself for lying.

I walk around the school and each step seems heavier. I hate this place. I feel like I’m trapped in a box but I’m not a mime. How can mimes do that-Stay in boxes? I’d die, which is the reason I feel so lost. I’m not supposed to be here, I just know it. I stare out the window from the bathroom and envy the birds. They mock me flying free without a care in the world. Flapping their wings cockily as they fly from tree to tree- I hate that I don’t have wings, or else I’d fly far, far, far away and never come back.

I wonder if ghosts can fly. I asked you this and you gave me that question face that I love-hate so much. It’s the face of concern, the face of love. And I hate that you’re so concerned but I love it. You think I’m strange, I bet. You think I’m strange because I wonder if ghosts can fly, but it’s a legitimate question but you ignore it because you don’t know the answer and neither do I. The question lingers through my head like an annoying gnat which makes me wish you would’ve just answered my question in the first place.

I sit in my bed and cry. I cry and cry and cry and cry until my tear ducts run out of tears and so I huff and sniffle and sniffle and huff and hate it. I stare at my horrible, ugly face in the mirror and hate it. I hate that it’s mine and I hate that it looks like that but I love that you think it’s beautiful. I try to find the beauty in it but it just gets uglier and it taunts me with its ugliness so much that I’m afraid I’ll crack the mirror, so I scream and throw my brush at the mirror and it breaks.

I know you won’t understand. I love you. But I hate me and I hate that. But I love you and just know that. I asked you if ghosts could fly but you never answered me and so I had to find out for myself.
Just don’t hate me for that.