He said those words to me a few weeks ago. And I was annoyed. Really. I thought it had something to do with finally turning 18 and wanting to leave the whole “kid” thing behind. I was wrong. Or I think, I was depriving myself of the truth because I was not ready for it to be true. I was annoyed because he said that one word so flippantly. No one knows how hard I try to be the same kid again. That same person who hadn’t been through stuff. Whose mind was not broken, who did not constantly wonder if something was deeply and seriously wrong with her. I wish I wasn’t tiptoeing around myself, not wanting to step on a thread that could unravel and leave me untethered. I wish I knew my own head, of all the thoughts that run around inside of it, so near me but still out of reach, like the horizon- like the balance I so desperately seek. I wish I was still in control and still inside my own body; not a ghost, an apparition that latches on to the ceiling and watches herself undo everything she has worked for with a look that reveals that she might just be having fun. I wish I didn’t have to see the sadistic grin on my face every time I messed up. I wish I was asking perfect, as pristine, as nice as everyone thinks and expects me to be. I wish my mind could understand that there might be some truth to their words; instead it runs past and builds more graves inside of me. I wish my words held meaning, held some amount of pain, some beauty. I wish I was lying. But you know, it’s not April 1st, Kid.
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