Punctuation

"The Medicated Kid"

She never imagined herself being the "medicated" kid. 

Nor believed she would ever find so much chaos between her ears that some days it takes every ounce of her energy to simply breathe.  

She's become such a mess.

And it took a miracle to decipher it from amidst its friendly neighbors. Her bright eyes, loud laugh, and overwhelming smile. 

Because distractions can do so much for a person who feels like a lot less than a person.

By the end of the day, in the privacy of her bedroom, she was always too exhausted to care enough to let it out, so she cried a few hundred miles every week--those spaces of alone time her commute would provide.

She would cry alone, otherwise, it was always communicated to be too invasive and selfish.

So she would wipe her tears away, cool her reddened face, and smile again as if nothing had happened. 

Because distractions can do so much for someone who feels so lonesomely empty.

Sleep was what she begged for from the moment her eyes opened every morning. 

And once her head hit the pillow every night, you couldn't reach her.  

The comfort of her bed became who she assumed was her only friend, until she allowed herself to seek the help she needed. 

Because nothing is accomplished while under the protection of raveled covers and heavy curtains.

She never imagined she would need a combination of chemicals to control the voices in her head, she dubbed them only normal--after all, she had lived in their presence for the entirety of her life.

And as she aged, the things they would whisper grew louder and more aggressive, interspersed with evil intentions and pure self-hatred. 

Waking up was painful for her, the day even further dreadful. 

She took a deep breath one ever-hopeless day spent losing it in public and confessed these deepest secrets, finally, to someone who was willing to listen. 

And someone who she slowly realized was building a trust with her that was a lot less likely to crumble to the ground than any other trust she had built with someone before. 

Someone who completely understood even the minimalistic emotions, the basics of the basics. Someone who made her feel a lot less alone. 

Someone who told her what she feared to hear, but needed to hear, the most. 

"This is not normal"

"It's chemical and nothing you are doing on purpose."

"Don't give up, you have so much to live for"

"I'm proud of you for telling me this"

"It's a sickness called depression"

Now she's the medicated kid who's just trying to wait for everything to kick in. 

She's the medicated kid who's waiting for the two-to-four weeks to wear off, so the medicine can make her feel again. 

Feel the sunshine on her cheeks, feel the air filling her tired and cramped lungs, and feel the happiness keep all darkness in her heart at bay just for the minute she's trying to live through.