trying to remember, to take a break?

I honestly didn’t recognize myself from about four months ago. It was so weird, I scrolled through old videos and I looked the same, but I know I didn’t look the same or feel the same. You know? Can’t you tell? Only I could know that really, but I wonder if anyone else did. She was really lost and I’m sorry for her actions. Sometimes when I’m like this, I just want to purge that other girl from my body, even if it means I have to skin myself alive to do so. I just want to rip her out and put her through a mugshot screen to prove to others, “that’s not me!” I would never do that though. I’m too much of a pussy, and it would probably hurt.

She always picked the worst time to go through introspection. Although, I doubt there was a way to prevent it. Daniella (sometimes “Dani”, sometimes “Ella”, depending on who she’s with) was sitting in the library during her lunch period, trying to study for an upcoming quiz. She sat in the corner of the room, one leg tucked up to her chest, as she leaned over her computer screen looking intently. Her eyes dead panned and she really was not absorbing anything on the slideshow presentation.

It was kind of hard sometimes. Daniella realized this; she was taking some hard classes, worked afterschool, played a varsity sport, and was president of about three clubs. She wanted to be heard, to be announced. Daniella wanted to be allowed to shine or be obnoxious; she wanted to fill up a room until every crevice was consumed by her cells. Whatever that means, Daniella breathed these nonsensical metaphors.

She hunched over her computer screen, still not studying efficiently. The person she was four months ago…

God, you were so fucking stupid. I can’t believe you were so dependent, so dumb. I’ve tried to help you, but I actually don’t know how to. I feel like I took all the wrong steps and could’ve prevented so much of what I went through. Not I. You. You from four months ago. From seven months ago. From a year ago…

We all have something that’s hard to face. I don’t really know why people get like Daniella. About ninety-five percent of the time it’s imaginary, it’s really not there. This fear, guilt, shame, depression, anxiety. It can’t really be there right? Just imaginary poison. I wish everyone would get a grip and move on. I’m starting to sound like a self-help book, except I’m fucking mean. I really don’t know.

I’m so bad at communicating. That’s why it happened, right? You sucked at talking about what you felt. Sucked at telling people that this isn’t what you wanted. So either you let it happen or just dipped completely. Why haven’t I let go? Why are you still here? Please just go away.

She wasn’t just talking to herself now. There were faces that popped into her head, ones she loved and some she hated. There were some people she didn’t fully recognize. Because like herself, they were so different now.

God, the period is almost up. I don’t even know what I’m looking at. What class is this even for? Bio. Okay, I’ve covered this. I think I remember that. What’s the chapter about? (for the first time, she glances away from her computer and takes a look at her unattended agenda) Okay heredity. Hmmm. Mendelian Genetics. Mendel’s laws of genetics: law of segregation and law of random assortment. Probability? Fuck that. Uhm. Peas. Non-Mendelian genetics. Codominance. Incomplete…

The bell rang. Her previous thoughts washed away like the hundreds of kids in the hallway struggling to get to their next class.

I don’t know if she’ll revisit them. She never has time to, then they end up sitting in her chest. Like sedimentary rock, she can tell how long ago it was deposited there. But without the proper technology, she really can’t remember what kind of rock it is? Granite? That’s the only rock I fucking know.

Daniella, give yourself a break.

She sat in her seat in the biology classroom and wrote her name on the scantron, the name of the person she was now (or four months ago, or seven, or maybe even a year).