Life, medicated.
Hello. My name is Melanie and I'm on anti-depressants.
I sit here now with an urge for action. I need to run. I need to talk. I need to laugh. I need to read. I need to watch. I need to kiss. I need to touch.
The double-doors of opportunity are right in front of me, but just out of reach. Every moment the rug underneath pulls me closer to the handle, but my fingers barely flutter against the brass. Soon, I tell myself, soon.
Soon is not enough.
I fill my moments waiting in an irritated silence.
Jessica's laugh makes me smile. It is filled with the innocence of childhood and it transports me back into my grandmother's house. Jessica and I kneel and build farmhouses out of lincoln-logs and make sure to put the cows in their pasture and the chickens in their coops. We put the little wooden dolls shaped like bullets into cars and airplanes. We spin them in the swing set that blurs their colors. We draw in books and play hide-and-go-seek when it rains. My grandmother's furniture has spider webs under it, but it doesn't matter.
Sometimes I look in the mirror and see my mother. Sometimes I look in the mirror and see someone that I don't know. Sometimes, I look and see someone who needs to change. Other times, I see someone so beautiful. I wonder what other people see.
I cleaned my room today. I organized my bookshelves and folded my clothes. I vaccumed and made my bed. My desk is still piled with books and papers. I am supposed to be writing 1 out of 3 short essays at this very moment.
Actually, I should be sleeping at this very moment. I have class tomorrow at 8:30 in the morning. The drive to school takes me an hour. I don't really mind, honestly.
I've been dating a guy that's narcissistic and forward. He's brilliant and just as charming and handsome as a fairytale prince. He's also just as fake. I really want to fuck him, regardless.
I've hit the week mark for my vegetarianism. I feel good.
I leave for England in less than two months.
My sentences are getting shorter.
Maybe I'll make a
really nice
angle.
I sit here now with an urge for action. I need to run. I need to talk. I need to laugh. I need to read. I need to watch. I need to kiss. I need to touch.
The double-doors of opportunity are right in front of me, but just out of reach. Every moment the rug underneath pulls me closer to the handle, but my fingers barely flutter against the brass. Soon, I tell myself, soon.
Soon is not enough.
I fill my moments waiting in an irritated silence.
Jessica's laugh makes me smile. It is filled with the innocence of childhood and it transports me back into my grandmother's house. Jessica and I kneel and build farmhouses out of lincoln-logs and make sure to put the cows in their pasture and the chickens in their coops. We put the little wooden dolls shaped like bullets into cars and airplanes. We spin them in the swing set that blurs their colors. We draw in books and play hide-and-go-seek when it rains. My grandmother's furniture has spider webs under it, but it doesn't matter.
Sometimes I look in the mirror and see my mother. Sometimes I look in the mirror and see someone that I don't know. Sometimes, I look and see someone who needs to change. Other times, I see someone so beautiful. I wonder what other people see.
I cleaned my room today. I organized my bookshelves and folded my clothes. I vaccumed and made my bed. My desk is still piled with books and papers. I am supposed to be writing 1 out of 3 short essays at this very moment.
Actually, I should be sleeping at this very moment. I have class tomorrow at 8:30 in the morning. The drive to school takes me an hour. I don't really mind, honestly.
I've been dating a guy that's narcissistic and forward. He's brilliant and just as charming and handsome as a fairytale prince. He's also just as fake. I really want to fuck him, regardless.
I've hit the week mark for my vegetarianism. I feel good.
I leave for England in less than two months.
My sentences are getting shorter.
Maybe I'll make a
really nice
angle.