Close My Wounds With A Bullet: By Ethan Roseberry

Memory IV: Marla

TW: Mental illness, anxiety, depression

"I was thirteen. Tired, physically exhausted, guess that's what being autistic in a crowded place does to you. Hiding my autism in public just so I can live another day has taken a toll on my mental health, made me depressed, anxious, but I shove it all down, I play the happy and strong black girl for my audience. Curse this conformist society, it makes my mental health worse every day. I was reading one of my favorite Dr. Seuss books, it was the one about the Grinch. I loved Dr. Seuss, he was a master in making kid's books that anyone of any age could enjoy. Those types of people, who can make kid's content that is enjoyable for older people... They're all gems.

I finished the book, then moved on to another one. It was written for an adult audience, not necessarily age-appropriate, but I read it nonetheless. Misery, by Stephen King. Such a good writer, and quite the amazing book. How I don't get nightmares from these books, I can't tell. I enjoy them, they scare me, and I like that, but I don't get nightmares from them. My bed was soft. I wanted to get out, but I spent too much energy on masking yesterday, so getting out would take longer than I wanted to. I wish I could be myself in public and not get killed for it.

Mom called me downstairs. "I can't get out!" I called back, hoping she would hear me. She walked into my bedroom. "You can get out." I raised my head up. "I'm too tired, Mom, I literally can't get out. Just wait, please." She left my bedroom, not saying a word. I lied back down, groaning at the top of my lungs. I went back to reading my book. 

Mental illness aside, I had a good life. Still do. I'm generally happy, assuming my depression doesn't kick in. My parents loved me. My whole family loved me. I was mostly respected at school. Mostly. I'm a very social person. I always love to talk, I'm an extrovert, but I also appreciate being alone sometimes.

I finally managed to get out of bed. I stretched my entire body, groaning once more. I was halfway through Misery- the book, not the feeling of it. Can't count how many times I've read it from start to finish. Probably twenty at this point. I ran downstairs, got out a bowl, poured out some cereal (then the milk), and started eating. The sound of fireworks. My back was immediately hunched over as I slapped my hands onto my ears to cover them. Fireworks. Why? Hearing them explode is a pain in the neck. Ugh, Fourth of July is the bane of my existence.

I pulled out my phone. It had the Bi Flag as its case, pretty good looking in my eyes. I texted Adi.

Me: Hi, how are you?

Adi: Fine, I guess. Ugh, life is killing me right now smh

Me: Sorry about that.

Adi: hbu?

Me: Oh, I'm fine as well. Again, sorry about your situation.

Adi: No, it's fine. Just a little... [puke emoji]

Me: You're sick?

Adi: Kinda sorta

Me: Sorry about that.

Adi: Thank you, I'm holding up well dw.

Me: That's good.

I quickly grabbed my antidepressants. Took them with water. Wish I asked Mom to bring them up, that would have helped me get up and out of bed much sooner. No, it wasn't the depression that tied me up, it was the masking. Ugh, why did I have to act so palatable, so cheery, every minute? I looked back at my phone.

Adi: Yeah, it is. :)

Me: Definitely.

Text-based conversations are weird. On one hand, you don't have to finish them so quickly. You can always return at any point to finish the conversation. On the other hand, they can be a little tricky to extend without feeling kind of cliché or dull or like it's not going anywhere. I went back to my food. Fireworks again. Ugh, no human decency in the neighborhood, but what could I do? I went back upstairs. I lied back down in bed, groaning once more. I wanted to be happy about something, but the fireworks were telling me otherwise.