Cuts like a knife

I don’t feel well today. I don’t feel well any days.

Could it be for purging this morning? Probably.

Could it be for having lunch with a “childhood” friend ? Probably.

Could it be for just having lunch? Probably.

Could it be the anxiety over due dates and deadlines? Probably.

Could it be the anxiety over feeling like a failure? Probably.

Could it be the sadness over a wasted life? Definitely.

I cried in writing class yesterday. We had to draw memory maps, make annotations of things we remembered from when we were nine and ten years old. I was never nine or ten, but someone was and they cried over drawing the neighbor’s garage. They said bad things happened there.

I just put my head down and let the droplets of tears hit the floor, praying no one would notice. I couldn’t get up and leave without people noticing me. I just looked down and waited for the tears to finally stop.
And today my assignment is to work on a writing piece based on when I was nine years old. And all I can do is cry and cry by my lonely self. And I’m sobbing like a nine year old that can’t catch her breath and whose chest is heaving up and down, trying to find breath.

And I’m all alone. And I hurt so deeply it cuts like a knife. But nobody knows it but me.

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