there's not even enough time to register what's happening.

it feels like everything at once and then nothing. knives stab past the delicate skin of your neck and slice into your throat. Your heart is bleeding with the weight of a boulder that no one can see, crushed under the pressure of too many things, and your burning throat is useless as you try to call for help.

the fire burns into your lungs some time after.

it's not even "fire". it's more of acrid smoke that flood your chest and push everything else away; gasoline that you choke on as you struggle to live, and a burst of fresh air that—unfortunately—never comes.

and yet, your face is carved into a smile. you're a jack-o-lantern, except you're not a pumpkin for decoration and it's not halloween, and the more you claw at your fraying strands of sanity, the more they threaten to break.

you want to—what do you want to do? do you want to laugh? cry? sink to your knees, bury your face in your palms and press hard enough for all the noise to be muffled out and replaced by a sea of black that's really not much of an improvement?

Everything speeds around you, like the flashing headlights of cars on a highway, and people's words start to blur into one another until all you hear is a string of never-ending nonsense that your brain can't even begin to process.

your mind is—you struggle to find the correct metaphor through the haze—a tree. a tree that hasn't been tended to in years and is ever-growing, with new branches sprouting further and further out even though there's no space left to go.

there's nothing you can do. people will look at this shell of a person and assume all the wrong things. a troubled person? a weak person?

weak is the one that gets to you the most, because you know that word fits you to a tee; yet, you can't help it. you try so much, you struggle so much, but nothing goes anywhere and years later, you're still stuck in a pitch-black hellhole.

it's not fair. it's not fair, you think, when you look around you and see that you're alone in this helpless situation.

and so you take a deep breath, try your best to calm the tremors in your ribcage, and rise to your feet.

because it's nothing new, and you have to grow up before you're left behind by the rest of society. no matter how painful it is, people aren't going to care if it doesn't concern them.

you glance around to see that you are alone as usual.

no one will come to help.

no one will come to you.

and you will accept that.

--

classmate next to me: //glances over "why are you being unlegit"

me: "shhhh"