One Door Closed Another Left Open

I wake up. Slipping out of the bed I walk into the bathroom. I stand in front of my sink, staring at the girl who is supposed to be my reflection. She has frizzy, curly, blonde hair that bordered on the lines of brunette. Her blue eyes have flecks of their old cerulean shade, but are now mainly coated in a gray haze. She is a simple 5'7" and though she tells herself she weighs 170lbs, she honestly has no clue. She is just in her bra and underwear. The two rings she never takes off are chilled against her bare thighs as she looks at the scars that grace her once olive skin. The scars on her left thigh hold the letters F, A, and T amongst the lines dashing this way and that in a scurry. Her right thigh resemble more of what her left forearm looks like. A Box, fit to make any person with OCD proud. A box willed with so many horizontal lines that no one had hopes of counting them. She compares one arm to the other, remembering a time where she didn't even know about her addiction. A time when her arms were smooth, no matter what the lighting was.. She sighs.

I pull out my tooth brush and toothpaste, brushing my teeth. I wince in agony as a bristle from my brush scrapes over a raw nerve. 7 years of bulimia, 5 of which I was in denial, has left me with a rotting molar that is slowly deteriorating. I keep brushing my teeth, ignoring the metallic taste of blood. I rinse my mouth and spit, watching the pink foam swirl down the drain. I get dressed in clean underwear, my leather work boots, boot-cut jeans, a Black Veil Brides tank, and start to do my make-up. I do my usual black eyeliner with black eye shadow. I highlight the edge of it with garnet, smirking at the irony. I quickly do my mascara then go to leave, grabbing my purse and phone.

Before pulling out in my truck, I set my phone to play on shuffle, smiling as Nightmare by Avenged Sevenfold came on. I drive across town and to my family’s old property. It's been renovated and paved over by the new owner. It breaks my heart. I drive away and to the hidden path that leads to the burial grounds. I park the car and get out, my feet automatically knowing which path to take and when to deter from the man-made trail. I find the creek and sit on the bank. I sigh and just stare in front of me.

"I miss you," I whisper as I see a monarch butterfly flutter around the other side of the creek. I daze from daydream to daydream. It isn’t until my phone goes from Marilyn Manson's, "Eat Me, Drink Me" to Miranda Lambert's "Blown Away" that I realize how much time has gone by. I check my phone and decide to head to class. I am attending the local community college.

I get to school just in time to take my usual seat and begin taking notes on the lecture. He is discussing a current event dealing with Wall Street, so I decide to just write out a journal. It is a scene for my latest fan fiction that I am writing. I smile as I get lost within my own creation. I wonder how many of my readers realize that I never preplan what I'm going to do in my stories. I put so much of myself into the characters, that I just let the story flow. Use my own reactions or how I think someone would react to move the story along. I decide to cut the chapter off at a dramatic quote. I look up at the clock to see that I have about fifteen minutes left in class. I go to doodling images based off of my favorite bands. I love Black Veil Brides, My Chemical Romance, Pierce The Veil, and Bring Me The Horizon. I have others I like, but those are ones I could listen to every day, and do as much. I have just perfected the sempiternal symbol when the professor dismisses the class. I pack my things up and decide to go back home.

“Lost It All” came on my phone and I can’t help the sadness starting to bubble up within me. That's the thing with my depression: I don't know what triggers me. I have a perfectly normal day and then something like this beautiful song playing brings up thoughts and images that just make me want to break down. This song, though I love it more than anything, reminds me of losing my G-pa and having to watch my G-ma and Granny both deteriorate from Cancer. Granny was the hardest to watch go. If it wasn't for my boyfriend at the time, I probably would have relapsed harder into depression and committed suicide. I wonder if she knows how much her absence has affected our broken family. I also just recently lost my Uncle Dennis, who was the closest thing to a father I ever got. No. No.

"Stop," I scold myself. I let myself sing along with Juliet's part of the song, trying to change my train of thought, but it is no use. This time I am stuck.