HeadBangerHammy

Logically, I shouldn't miss you this much-- we spoke only yesterday. But sadly, whatever this is thumbs its nose at Logic, choosing instead to plant butterflies in my chest and blame it on you. So I keep checking my phone, my email, hoping against hope that it will be different than when I checked it ten seconds ago. Logically, I shouldn't like you this much-- we haven't been friends for long. But sadly, I've broken one of my cardinal rules and gone knees-over-elbows, fallen hard enough to knock the air out of my lungs, and found myself lying on my back, wondering how I got here. So I'm just hoping that this feeling will go away and leave me

Insomnia brings memory, longing and regret on trembling mocha wings. I lie on my stomach, head turned to the right, eyes open to a darkness so opaque I can’t tell the difference when I blink. For no reason in particular, I think about how odd it is that I haven’t had a relapse. The months without return to self-destruction fool me into thinking myself invincible. They trick me into believing that maybe, just maybe, I’m cured. Then from nowhere, the urge strikes. I squeeze my eyelids shut against the panoramic view of a bathroom mirror, my shirt rolled up, shiny silver instrument in hand as I notate yet another masterpiece on

“My name is Janet, and I am an alcoholic.” “I’m Mark, and I’m an alcoholic.” “Hi, I’m Keith, and I am an alcoholic.” Leaning forward in the hard plastic chair with his elbows on his knees, Alex watched the people stand and speak, every confession bringing his turn closer. He smirked. It was pathetic, really. All these people were just loser alcoholics who couldn’t get it together on their own. Alex didn’t belong here; he was doing just fine. On the other hand, his aunt mistakenly thought he had a problem, and had convinced him to go to an AA meeting. “Fine, I’ll go,”

 Gabriela hates yellow. She can’t stand the ugly shade of mustard on the cheap, transparent plastic of the parka she has to wear. Right now all she wants is her giant, zebra-striped umbrella and a working phone. She spews obscenities at the crappy phone she’s attempting to take pictures with so she can send them to her mother, who had to give up the trip to Niagara Falls so she could make her trips to chemo instead. Mom always wanted to see the Canadian side, but the masses in her lungs showed themselves before she could go, and she insisted between violent coughing fits and drags of the cigarettes she refused to give up that Gabi g

Wake up. Stagger groggily into the bathroom. Peer at your reflection in the mirror. Look away. Feel your gut clench anxiously as you strip off the clothes, hoping to strip off the weight with them. Step on the scale, dreading the numbers, but still dying to know if they’ve changed. Watch the red LED lines arrange themselves into pounds of blubber, your faults spelled out in digital for all to see. Look away as it finishes adding up your sins. Force yourself to look back. 112 pounds. Still not good enough. Dress and trudge into the kitchen, where breakfast is being cooked. Watch the steaming, aromatic plates of food being set on the ta

“Oh my god, you’re lying. Seriously?” Kitty’s voice is unmistakable. She and her best friend are coming my way, arms intertwined, conversation running at a speed that says they don’t have time to acknowledge anyone’s existence but theirs. I glance up at her, and for a fraction of a second, we make contact. There is no recognition in her eyes; I could easily be someone she had never seen before, which is interesting considering that she’s spoken to me almost every day. They quickly brush past me, and I continue on my way to third period. A wry smile crosses my face as I remember how I used to envy Kitty. Ki