The Things I Carry

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I carry the chuck taylor’s on my feet, the pants that cover my shapely thighs, and the jacket that protects me from the harshness of winter. I carry the gloves that cover my hands, the hair that lines my scalp and the socks that keep my little piggy’s warm. I carry a purse that holds anything and everything I can fit in it. I carry a device that holds tracks from Adele to Ellie Goulding to the Fray. I carry the headphones that gracefully line my ears and fill them with peace and happiness. I carry books, folders, binders, and homework assignments that I have yet to start. I carry the emptiness of hope. I carry the feeling that I’m not important, that I’m good enough. I carry 16 credit hours and the stress that goes along with it. I carry 25 to 30 hours of work a week. I carry the excitement of my 17th birthday that falls the day before thanksgiving this year. I carry the burden that my 3 year old niece is going to grow up without a mother or father. I carry a smile that only some can break through. I carry laughter to hide my pain. I carry the worry that when I leave in June of this year that my mother is going fail. Fail at going through with the divorce. The divorce from a man who has tried to dictate her and her daughter’s lives since the beginning, the man who had an affair behind her back while she carried 3 kids, one in her belly, the burden of her drug addicted ex-husband, and the stress of working 36 hours a week while in nursing school. She carried the thought that she was ugly and worthless cause she believed what her husband said. She carried a failing marriage to a man who called her a b****, when all she tried to do was protect her blood. She carried the fear that her eldest daughter was going to go down the path that her first husband did. She carried the sights of her husband screaming and getting uncontrollably angry at her eldest daughter. She still carries the memories of a man she thought she loved controlling everything she did. She carries the thought that her only son is going to become just as disrespectful to her as her husband is. She carries the fear that her 16 year old daughter is going to commit suicide.
I carry the scars on my arms and thighs from a razor slicing my skin. I carry the memories of writing my suicide note. I carry the thought that maybe ending my life is better than going through this, but the one thing I carry that weighs the most is this black cloud that lies above me. A cloud I call depression. I carry the fact that no one really understands what this storm is like. That I wake up every day not wanting to do anything, but crawl in a hole and spend the rest of my life by myself. That every day I put on a smile cause I all I want is to truly be happy. I carry the thought that I hid all my cutting, suicidal thoughts and sadness from anyone for six years. I carry the image of myself in the mirror; the image that I hate. I carry the depressing fact that im not skinny enough. I carry the thought that maybe I should starve myself just so that someone will actually find me attractive. I carry 60 pounds that I don’t want. I carry a voice that tells me to stop eating and go for a run. I carry the thought that I have nothing to complain about, that I shouldn’t be sad because I don’t carry some of the burdens that others carry. I don’t carry the burden of when I will eat my next meal. I don’t carry the burden that I might get shot tomorrow because my country is at war. I don’t carry the burden that I may be beaten by a man who owns me. I only carry a guard. I carry this guard, image I should say, that no one has ever broken. An image that I am okay, that everything is fine, that I am just the honest, funny, easy going, always there friend. I carry this dream that I will leave the USA. That I will move after graduation to live and study in England for the next three years. I carry an ambition that maybe just maybe I will find happiness at some point, that I will no longer carry this depression.





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