on my mental health

I failed the classes in my eighth grade year. I knew the exact caloric value in half of a buttered croissant but the Pythagorean theorem slipped through my mind. I couldn’t concentrate in art class but I was able to adorn the upper half of my right thigh with scar tissue contrived by years of mutilating myself with rusted metal. I strived for the role of being the quintessential daughter but somehow fucked up in the process.

I’ve spent nearly two decades combating the two halves of my brain — one half is delicately telling me to continue to allow my heart to pump. It tells me to text my friends at midnight to tell them I am eternally thankful for their presence in my life and ask if they’d like to hang out this Sunday. It tells me that there are new people to love and meet, there are ripe fruits to be eaten, there are new beds to lay in.

The other half tells me that I am a creature so revolting my own mother could never love me. I am constantly reminded of the urge to peel open the thin layer of skin covering my vital arteries and the urge to exile those same friends from my life. My own mind influences me enough to spend those same Sunday nights recklessly puking up my dinner and not looking both ways while crossing an intersection. The day of the Lord. The most artistic way I can execute this is by comparing this fraction to the manipulative boyfriend you’ve never quite worked up the courage to leave yet.

This isn’t a plea for pity or mass amounts of currency. It’s a request for patience. Although the soft whisper of the kinder part of my brain is steadily turning into a louder voice, there are not days that go by where I am silently begging for the subway I take to work to be derailed and end in some accident filled with carnage. I am asking for you to be patient with me on those days. I am still growing and learning to fill the emptiness. Please be kind to me on the days where I can’t make it to the dinner we made plans for a week in advance because I’ve stayed in my room for days on end. Be kind on me on the days I least deserve it. I am still learning how to be.