Sixteen

I’m not sure I ever really wake into the world, I wake into memories. Sometimes I wake into memories that have yet to happen, and I fear they never will. Eyes opening slowly, I’m not in my bed, but one with grey sheets and a slick blanket. My head turns to an open window, and out of which I greet the honking of horns, motors and sirens and all the classic sounds of the beautiful New York City. I feel peaceful, because I know that I’m alone in my room in my small but clean apartment…. Detached from eighteen years of life…. On my own, with a job I may or may not like-but a job nonetheless. But in a blur the towering buildings smooth over to tall, green-yellow pines and a heavy stress resumes on my chest. I am not happy, bold and in the city, but sixteen, timid and trapped.

            But sometimes, like today, I wake with a true memory. I had left my window open. I look out to the blazing sun- sun. It has been nothing but storms and ten inches of rain the past week, pleasant but bitter cold and morose. This sun, this quiet blue sky matched perfectly to the green-yellow pines had a euphoric ortone to it-like a filter on Instagram- it didn’t seem to belong to now. Instead it belonged to the surroundings of my childhood. Blonde, skinny, careless, blind and dyslexic. A little, faire thing who never stopped running or talking or leaping or… just, being. Everything was so brilliantly lit, I had so much conviction then… Though these memories weighed heavy on my heart till it began to sink. Slowly drifting back to reality. I was so, healthy. I could run, jump, climb, hike, swim, ready for anything at any time. That is what weighed on my heart. I blink and I’m sixteen, timid and trapped. I’m lying in a dusty room filled with things- not important things- just… things.

            I lay still and limp. Malnourished, anxiety intertwined between my ribs, inconsolable depression and panic blanket my mind. Another day of missed school. Another day of longing for an adventure I cannot go on. Another day of Doctor’s shaking their heads-dumb to my constant illness, to how to fix me.

            How can I achieve the memories that are yet to happen if I cannot leave my bed? If food makes me wretch �" if people stun fear into me- if I’ve forgotten how to speak �" and If my skin is clean, pale, smooth and cared for from lack of running and talking and leaping and climbing and hiking and swimming and just…  being..?

            How do I go on when I’m a child at heart, sixteen in truth and grappling for strong twenties?

Confined by illness.

                        How can I go on,

                                    When I’m sixteen, timid and trapped?