Nan’s house was my safe haven. Sure, it was small, but it was all we needed. The garden was larger than life and my feet couldn’t touch the bottom of the swimming pool. I’d searched under every rock for bugs and climbed the tree at least a million times. She had strawberry patches, we’d eat right out of them. “God made dirt, so dirt don’t hurt.”, she’d say. I always thought the dirt made them taste sweeter.
Nan was super woman. I can remember her picking up spiders in her hand, and me cowering across the room, terrified, trying to make sense of why anyone would do such a thing. She let it crawl up her arm and off the tip of her fingers, onto mine. The spiders legs were tickling my skin. I felt like I had the world in my hands. Nan had a way of making me feel that way.
Growing up in that house made me who I am. My mom worked as a nurse, night shift, so I would stay for days at a time. I lost my first tooth there. I remember laying in bed next to her, wiggling it with my tongue, shocked when it came out. I woke her up and she promised she’d stay up with me until the tooth fairy came. As I fell asleep, she slipped a shiny half-dollar under my pillow. It was like magic.
My first kiss, under the water of the pool. My best friend planted a peck on my lips and underwater scream, “I love you!”. I laughed at the bubbles flying out of his mouth. I knew what love was, even though I was 5. I owe it all to Nan.
**************
Rain never fell so hard. The drops aren’t water, they’re lead. I used to love the rain. At Nan’s house, we’d play in the mud and roll in the puddles all the time when I was little. Now I’m 14, and forced to grow up.
It’s been 3 months without her. I feel like I’m aging inside. Growing older by the week. I guess that’s what happens when your center of gravity looses to cancer. The sun drops, and so do the planets.
“I’m not talkin’ ‘bout movin’ in and I don’t wanna change...”
I roll over and smack the power button on the alarm. I don’t know why I haven’t changed it yet. I set England Dan as the wake up tone while Nan was sick. She told me to because it was her favorite song, and she didn’t want me to forget about her when she was in the hospital. How could I ever...
I rolled on to my stomach, letting out a sigh, like I did every morning, preparing for a day that I knew would be just the same as yesterday; and tomorrow wouldn’t be much different.
I got in the shower inhaling the steam. There was always a strange calm I got in the shower, feeling the beads of water run down me. Over my scars. Sometimes I’ll stay in for an extra 15 minutes just running my fingers over my arm.
Before Nan got sick I was 7 months into recovery. July 8th, 2012 was the last time. She was so proud of me, for being the strong young women she imagined me to be. But now, the date is gone and I’m back in the safe arms of self harm. I know it inside and out. There’s only one way it will go. I’ll cut and it will bleed. And that won’t change until the end of time. Most people with depression have no support. But I have everything. A loving middle class family, and a loving boyfriend, a house, food and the opportunity to attend classes at a private catholic school. That only makes it worse for me, knowing that I have all of that but still, I’m not happy.
I cut the water and step out of the shower. I retrieved my razor from the top drawer and sit on the sink. Staring at my scars, I place the cold metal on my skin, my canvas, and press down. I feel a pinch, and now I’m ready. I drag the blade across my arm watching little beads of blood pop up in my path. I hear the door open to my father’s room, quickly clean myself up and get dressed in my school uniform. My school uniform with sleeves.
It’s a 10 minute drive to school so every morning I plug in my ipod, close my eyes and think of the day ahead. My phone buzzed in my pocket.
“Hey baby, good morning! I love you so much, text me after school<3“
He never fails to text me on the mornings. Today I didn’t text back.
Nan was super woman. I can remember her picking up spiders in her hand, and me cowering across the room, terrified, trying to make sense of why anyone would do such a thing. She let it crawl up her arm and off the tip of her fingers, onto mine. The spiders legs were tickling my skin. I felt like I had the world in my hands. Nan had a way of making me feel that way.
Growing up in that house made me who I am. My mom worked as a nurse, night shift, so I would stay for days at a time. I lost my first tooth there. I remember laying in bed next to her, wiggling it with my tongue, shocked when it came out. I woke her up and she promised she’d stay up with me until the tooth fairy came. As I fell asleep, she slipped a shiny half-dollar under my pillow. It was like magic.
My first kiss, under the water of the pool. My best friend planted a peck on my lips and underwater scream, “I love you!”. I laughed at the bubbles flying out of his mouth. I knew what love was, even though I was 5. I owe it all to Nan.
**************
Rain never fell so hard. The drops aren’t water, they’re lead. I used to love the rain. At Nan’s house, we’d play in the mud and roll in the puddles all the time when I was little. Now I’m 14, and forced to grow up.
It’s been 3 months without her. I feel like I’m aging inside. Growing older by the week. I guess that’s what happens when your center of gravity looses to cancer. The sun drops, and so do the planets.
“I’m not talkin’ ‘bout movin’ in and I don’t wanna change...”
I roll over and smack the power button on the alarm. I don’t know why I haven’t changed it yet. I set England Dan as the wake up tone while Nan was sick. She told me to because it was her favorite song, and she didn’t want me to forget about her when she was in the hospital. How could I ever...
I rolled on to my stomach, letting out a sigh, like I did every morning, preparing for a day that I knew would be just the same as yesterday; and tomorrow wouldn’t be much different.
I got in the shower inhaling the steam. There was always a strange calm I got in the shower, feeling the beads of water run down me. Over my scars. Sometimes I’ll stay in for an extra 15 minutes just running my fingers over my arm.
Before Nan got sick I was 7 months into recovery. July 8th, 2012 was the last time. She was so proud of me, for being the strong young women she imagined me to be. But now, the date is gone and I’m back in the safe arms of self harm. I know it inside and out. There’s only one way it will go. I’ll cut and it will bleed. And that won’t change until the end of time. Most people with depression have no support. But I have everything. A loving middle class family, and a loving boyfriend, a house, food and the opportunity to attend classes at a private catholic school. That only makes it worse for me, knowing that I have all of that but still, I’m not happy.
I cut the water and step out of the shower. I retrieved my razor from the top drawer and sit on the sink. Staring at my scars, I place the cold metal on my skin, my canvas, and press down. I feel a pinch, and now I’m ready. I drag the blade across my arm watching little beads of blood pop up in my path. I hear the door open to my father’s room, quickly clean myself up and get dressed in my school uniform. My school uniform with sleeves.
It’s a 10 minute drive to school so every morning I plug in my ipod, close my eyes and think of the day ahead. My phone buzzed in my pocket.
“Hey baby, good morning! I love you so much, text me after school<3“
He never fails to text me on the mornings. Today I didn’t text back.
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