literature

'she looks like sylvia plath'

Deviation Actions

Published: Oct 10, 2014

416 Views

Literature Text

8.00 am
as soon as i thought 'i am sick' the sickness grew inside me,
as soon as i thought 'i am cold' the shaking became worse,
as soon as i thought 'i am not real' the scratching sought to prove otherwise,
my friends held me down, back and away from myself.
they didn't understand
that the scratching had no impact until a small spot of blood cooled my wrist
and i burst into sirens and fireworks and waterfalls
crying at what i lost.

8.30 am
i couldn't tell if someone was splashing ice cold water on my face or if i was just making eye contact with too many people all at once
but my eyes were darting around so much and i couldn't help it.
i shouted emptily into my mind:
these aren't tears
my eyes are just tired from darting around so much. and darting because they are tired.
stanley couldn't tell but i was making eye contact with his voice
and could see it drifting past me and landing on sydney's face as he told her
"za'adi looks like sylvia plath right now"
and i creaked back and forth in my assigned seat in the classroom
and supportive hands found themselves firmly my shoulders.
the hands are real, i thought,
the panic is not.

9.00 am
we were looking at a skeleton model.
i couldn't stop looking at the wrist
carpals meet metacarpals meet phalanges
i felt around to confirm they were all there.
i scratched and scratched and scratched to see if my bones were as white as the plastic laid out before me,
or if they were tainted by the burden of whatever makes us human.

9.30 am
the guidance counselor sat beside me as i lodged my eyes on the screen in front of me
and typed out my paper about feminism that once seemed interesting but at the time seemed overblown and accusatory.
"word on the street is that you're struggling, za'adi."
i said "what?" but i knew what, and the thought of what was already consuming me.
she repeated herself.
"who was on the street?" i asked three times.
i smiled remembering how when i was a kid i thought roads never ended,
and that they all intersect and that was the center of the world
where you start digging to the earth's core
to look for the meaning of life or dinosaurs.
"does it matter?" she asked.
and it did.
because roads never end,
so anyone could have been on the street.
it was impossible for a word to be on the street
without someone speaking it.
"who was on the street?" i asked, louder and meaner.
she left.

9.45 am
text:
i really really really really need you right now.

10.00 am
"za'adi are you okay?"
i looked up at the posters for universities scattered around.
"what are you feeling?"
"nothing and everything."

11.00-12.00
a blur.
pulled out of class three times.

3.00pm
text:
what's wrong? did you take anything?
5 missed calls.
i lay in the nurses office,
zonked out by my own problematic nature,
sighed deeply and slept.