TRIGGER WARNING: disordered eating, hospitalization, gore/blood, death
I remember the patterned sheets. The tube giving me an uncomfortable warmth.
I remember the venue, crowded and loud. The hydrating and motherly gave needles and stickers, stinging and mark making. “Keep it as a souvenir”.
I remember the color of my medications, once doing my makeup similarly. The soft blue and stark white of antidepressants, supplement translucency, the fish oil’s yellow.
Feeling in a terribly stereotypical movie- chew and spit; the textures enveloping.
I remember highway silence, was the end near? What songs would I like to hear?
I hated the internal anger, I wanted to feel kind. The metallic taste of these capsules; the false fullness. How had this become the new normal?
I now am the warmer bed of my own. The uncomfortable but necessary warmth.
*Jorge turns 96 in the coming weeks.
Jorge (he/him) has lived a long life and is (undoubtedly biased opinion) my favorite human. After graduating high school in Spain and leaving home at age 18, he studied and lived in a monastery for years. He decided on studying philosophy via a Bachelor’s degree. …
This is a draft of a prompt for a mental health essay I wrote, at age 17.
Suddenly, I feel as though it’s been contaminated. Names of diseases pass through my mind as I pick it back up- a common voice in my head, as I enter through public bathrooms and what I deem to be unsafe spaces and objects. …