I sit in psychology,

A class I should be interested in, but instead worry

About the little problems that I have that do not reflect any other person

Except myself.

This sounds normal.

This is normal.

 

But I am not normal.

 

Anorexia Nervosa, Social Anxiety, and Manic Depression.

Self-diagnosed, self-taught, roots of my pain.

 

Throughout my years in high school,

I have developed some of these diseases.

 

Shaped slowly by Anorexia Nervosa,

Although unlasting,

My body shrank

My ribcage protruded from my skin.

Not noticeably, of course…that would lead to questions.

Bring food, throw it away

Crumpled up as if it had been eaten,

As if I was hoping for the pit in my stomach to fill the pit I my heart.

But weight cannot improve a gap

Caused by pain

Caused by love.

 

I see others go through the same pain.

Loss, rejection, and decreasing confidence don’t improve this disorder.

At the age of thirteen, the scale in the locker room, used for PE, read 100.

My friend and I cried because of our three-pound weight gain.

This is not okay.

 

Crumpled by Anxiety,

Just as I had with the uneaten food.

In a room full of people that would never take the chance to know me,

I sit.

One of thirty-or-so children in one of four-or-so periods in the day.

Fear of my first word to the person next to me,

They may realize what I am before they even know.

 

The laundry list of responsibilities running through my head:

First, I have a chem test.

I forgot to study again.

Then I have a presentation in English.

How can I do that if I was up all night studying for a test I am just going to fail?

Will I fail?

Of course I’ll fail.

 

But anyways,

Then I have lunch-

I spend a while pondering whether I will take the time to eat healthy

or drive to one of many fast food places nearby.

I’ll probably spend my well-earned money on junk food,

At least the taste of fat will make me happy for a minute.

Then chamber.

I’m singing flat again, wait, I’m singing sharp.

Wait, I’m not blending enough, or breathing enough, or loud enough.

If I’m flat then I should sing quieter.

I should be quieter.

 

Rinse, wash, and repeat they cycle.

 

I am surrounded by a cloud of Manic Depression.

Perhaps it is the small events that decrease my confidence to the point of rain drops.

That evaporate into a little black cloud above my head.

It’s okay though, because I look like sunshine.

It’s silly how easily a smile can cover up something so deep.

So dark

Like an infinite cave that sometimes circles to see the light,

But then collapses and traps you until you explode.

This is the worst, given to me through heritage.

This is an uncontrollable diagnosis.

There is a pattern between a grandparent

and their daughter and their daughter’s daughter.

They recycle their genes, leaving the next generation with the trash from the past.

I am collecting trash on a beach where the waves wash up more during each tide.

 

I can’t be better

Because everything demands me not to be.

The cloud can only condensate for so long before returning.

 

I should have paid better attention in psychology

Because if I had just looked around,

I would have seen that everyone shares mental problems,

Just like me.

I am normal.