My Biggest Fear

Dear Mom,

The oddest thing happened at school last week. I mean, I guess it shouldn’t come as any great surprise. Like mother, like daughter. After all, that's how the saying goes.

Have you ever seen those giant pink erasers that have “oops” printed on them? Maybe you remember them from your school library? It’s the one for really big mistakes.

Have you ever wished that you could use it on yourself? Just make yourself disappear?

The teacher arranged a video lesson with a popular picture-book illustrator. From the large screen, the artist demonstrated how he used a pencil to draw the lines of the character before making the marks permanent with a black marker. He modeled how to use the “oops” eraser for mistakes and then eventually to remove the temporary pencil markings after solidifying the character with the marker.

“Only on the lines we want to keep…” the illustrator said, expertly moving the ebony tip across the ivory parchment.

I looked around at the other students. Some were daydreaming, not paying attention to the lesson at all as they sketched absentmindedly. Others were watching and creating, hoping to learn and perhaps improve their artistic talents. The sounds of pencils against the wooden tables punctuated the illustrator’s instructions, as students shaded in their figures. Some already grabbed the dark, wet-tipped markers to cement their likenesses on the page.

But not me. I stared at the faint, scribbled pencil markings.

“Where does the light come from?” the illustrator asked from the screen. “You have to ask yourself that, so you know where the shadows belong.”

The immediate response in my head.

There is no light. At least not in my world.

I studied myself on the paper, a pencil outline of a girl enveloped in an ash-colored world. A black and white rough draft, devoid of color. Instead of darkening the lines to make a lasting imprint, I took control. Grabbing the eraser, I began to remove myself. Each line, created without my consent, was slowly deleted.

Why did you have me?

I began with my feet, the ones that pull me to the ground. These, the roots, were loathed the most. The ones that keep me planted where I am, in the dirt, pathetically broken.

I hesitated over my chest, where my heartbeat pulsed slowly and deliberately. Then went around it to my eyes. I’d never have to see our house again, the one I once loved when it was filled with daddy’s warm energy. Now no light enters the windows, the blinds pulled down tight.

Blindness, sleep in darkness.

You’ll never have to open again.

My nose was next, rejoicing over the fact that I’d no longer be able to smell the cigarette smoke that wafts from under your bedroom door. Especially during the lows.

No more breathing in the noxious fumes.

Ears, the lobes first. Then the cavernous auditory canal, never-ending caves of echoes.

Yes, I know I was a mistake.

Yes, I know it was my fault.

Yes, I know I’m stupid.

Yes, I know you’re sorry, Mommy.

My mouth, a steel gate that imprisoned my words.

I hate you too.

I love you too.

Quickly conquered by the eraser, my lips disappeared.

Now, I really will be mute.

The paper was once again a virginal, white piece of parchment. Except for the steady heart, beating a personal lullaby. My hand was tired, my body was tired. I lowered my head to the desk.

Thump thump.

Thump thump.

As drool began its journey down my chin, swirls of color appeared from within. Like the sorcerer’s apprentice with a paintbrush instead of a wand, I madly splashed a kaleidoscope of violet, green, orange, and gold. I birthed colossal swirls of blue that wildly crashed against the dun-colored cement. I released pink and purple flower petals from an exploding field of verdant green. I dipped my brush into yellow and churned the bristles into the cornflower-blue sky, bigger and bigger, until each and every shadow slithered and slunk away like serpentine vampires. In a hypnotic daze, I approached the heart, its steady cadence like a native drumbeat, demanding sacrifice. Brought to frenzy, I stabbed the organ with the brush, releasing a gushing crimson wave. Breathing in the metallic, salty scent, my eyes began to take in the hues of life around me. My feet so lightly touched the ground, I let go and screamed. I screamed and screamed, a primal call, until it sounded more like a squawk.

Jolting at my teacher’s touch, my body’s betrayal brought me back. As I sat up, I noticed my fingers, stained in multi-colored hues. And on my paper a scarlet macaw, a masterpiece, stared back at me.

You see, I’m afraid.

My biggest fear is I’m just like you.

From,

Your daughter



This is a complete work of fiction. None of the characters or story is true. It was inspired by reading about mental illness during my university studies.