Her fingers brushed the calendar, emotionless eyes studying the numbers.
1438 days since my first run-in with depression. Since the first time they thought I was crazy.
Blinking back tears for a sorrow she didn't feel, she turned away, turning to her lace-draped window, focusing out the window at the bright sunlight. The green trees outside, the birds flying past, her siblings outside in the freshly cut grass, laughing.
Laughing.
"How long will this crying alone in my room be artsy..."
She saw them playing, light and carefree. Like she used to be, like she can't even dream to be anymore. She turned away, her heavy eyelids lowering and her shoulders drawing themselves downward.
"How long until all of this gets old and I'm actually ready to die?"
Her fingers slipped across the desktop, unfeeling as she crossed to her bed, falling heavily on it. The creaks of the frame filled the otherwise silent room.
"Why am I not better yet? It's been so many years, so many tears."
The clock chimed for lunch time and the shouting outside diminished as her siblings filed inside for lunch. But in her room, she remained.
"And I'm forgetting how to sleep. And I'm forgetting how to eat."
Her mom poked her head into her room, smiling brightly at the silent girl on the bed. "Lunch is ready."
Idly, she nodded, standing up. "I'll be down in a bit." The mumble was soft and noncommittal.
"Sounds good."
There was a pause as the girl waited for her mom to leave, but she didn't.
"Do you need anything?"
The girl shook her head. "I'm fine."
Uncertainly, her mom nodded. "Therapy's tomorrow," she offered.
"This isn't helping. None of this is helping."
"Mmhm."
Silence stretched between them before the mother sighed. "Well, don't let your lunch go to waste please."
"I won't."
After a brief hesitation, the door slipped shut and the girl laid down on her bed, tears springing to her eyes once again.
"Why am I not better yet? It's been so many years..."
***
why am i not better, Ethan Jewell
Estimated Time of Memory: This one actually isn't a memory.
Genre:
Potential Triggers: Depression, hints at suicide,
Favorite Lyric: "Because this illness isn't cute. It's not for writing beautiful poetry. It's not for singing pretty chords. It's not for you to be there for me. It's not for me to be understood."