It’s been eleven days since I’ve seen a familiar face-
My voice shakes when I talk now. My arms hesitate when grabbing something. Unsure of every action I take.
I’m hungry all of the time. I am scared of the world around me. I am afraid of the future.
I have never been this way before.
At night when I need to cry, I can’t. I want everyone around me to like me, my roommate most importantly. I don’t want to annoy anyone.
Even when they eat my food and use my things, I keep quiet. I know they’re using me. I just want somewhere I belong.
Aside from the community garden below my building, I have no where that is my own. Temporarily the elevator is, until the doors slide open and another set of legs walk into my space. And then I must attach the face, and straighten the spine, and god forbid, smile.
I do not feel like smiling. I feel like locking myself in a room and eating. Eating. Eating. Eating. That uncontrollable urge to shove as much food into my face as I can until I choke, hoping I get fat, hoping I lose this feeling, hoping I feel full and content and happy.
But I won’t. I never do.
I’ll continue feeling out of place, a puzzle piece in the wrong box. 6/7 days of the week, I wish I were back making popcorn and doing what I knew. I was good. I was capable.
I am not capable here.
Instead, I pour coffee before it’s done brewing. I drop croissants. I can’t understand my French roommate. I can’t figure out where the hell my assignments are posted online. I don’t have enough money. I couldn’t fill FAFSA out properly. I can’t stay in contact with the people I love.
Everything is falling down around me, because of me.