by Janae GamaraContent warning: mentions of suicidal thoughts my last class of the day is on the fourth floor and the window is open and the window is never open and sometimes wasps keep flying in and honestly it gives me anxiety because i've never been stung before and what if i'm allergic and what if it hurts and what if it swells up and i die? and i haven’t been to this class in probably a month and i’m sure everyone is staring at me like that one kid who only shows up for the final and everyone is like “you’re in our class?” and my palms are sweaty and my leg is shaking and i’m sure i’ll be called on at any moment by the professor who probably hates me, or at the very least is tired of my bullshit. and honestly i haven't even done the readings for today but my last class is on the fourth floor and the windows are open and i think about jumping out of it ten times before class lets out, all within the space of an hour and fifteen minutes and i wonder what it would be like. my body hitting—whatever. the thud. the way it sounds when you accidentally drop your hardcover textbook. or maybe the quiet of a pencil slipping from your hand, almost an accident. and me. i think about throwing my pencil out the window and then following it out, a dive, but then what if i miss and accidentally hit some girl on the head and the pencil sort of rebounds back to me? and then i will be so full of shame that of course that door to the sky would beckon me into forever. and so what? what does infinity taste like? and what if this is a cry for help? and what if i refuse to admit it's a cry for help because my pain can't be valid if someone else has more pain, right? so i didn't jump out the window. i didn't jump out the window because i'm here, i exist, still, in spite of my brain's best efforts to convince me otherwise. i am still here because even though most days my anxiety and my depression make me never want to leave my bed, there are still those moments: my professor recites something in russian and i am reminded how beautiful other languages are, how we convey so much through sound. i watch my favorite play and remember how lovely life is. my sister’s laugh is often my favorite sound. a comfortable moment of silence with someone i’m close with is how i say, thank you. sometimes i pretend that string lights are my own personal stars. i tell my ex i love her, but i don't say it out loud. leaves still change color and i cannot stop them and do not want to. a warm shower is sometimes the kindest gift i give myself. i am around my friends and i am so glad to be alive. there is so much beauty in the world, and i am learning how to find it in everything.
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