Magazine, website & books written by teens since 1989

Old Friend

Custom User Avatar
More by this author

I was ten years old when my mother told me “monsters aren’t real”.
But mother didn’t understand my utter fear that engulfed me while looking in the mirror.
Stop. Thinking. About. It.
Stop. Thinking. About. It.
Stop. Thinking. About. It.
I scream to myself.
But no, wait, you can’t really scream inside your own head.
So I told myself it would go away if I paid no attention to it.
Yet it hung over my head like knives hung above me with string, my thoughts the scissors that would send them plunging down towards me.
Not only terrifying but also exhilarating.
The threat of impending doom.


My doctors told me it’s not healthy.
They shoved antidepressants down my throat.
“STOP, PLEASE. NO MORE!”.
“It’s but a disease, you’ll need these”.
I want to yell, I want to scream.
Hopelessness drips from every word, “I don’t want to feel better”.
For adults only know what they can see.
And children are wrong, no questions for me.
Don’t they know, that this dull ache, keeps me sane?
But who are these strangers to tell me that the depression inside me doesn’t belong?
My parents, my doctors, my friends,
They want to take away all that I am.
They hope that the tiny pill will give life to a new me.


Who am I without my sadness?
It’s like a roommate, messy yet comforting, a beautifully orchestrated chaos.


What’s a sunday afternoon without the comforting blanket of nothing?
A Sunday of complete darkness, blackout curtains drawn closed, making it easier to sleep the day away.
A Sunday of silence, not  a thing to distract you from doing nothing.
A Sunday of a dull hunger, a manageable pain that reminds you you’re still alive.
A Sunday of lavender scents, the calming candles you light to help you stay asleep.
Living, breathing, eating.
I’m alive, shouldn’t that count for something?


In the end, I know I must part with my beloved friend.
I want to say thank you for keeping me company.
Dear friend, you are the darkness to my sadness.
It’s time I turn on the lights.
Here I go, it’s time.
Maybe one day we will cross paths.
Briefly.
For I cannot bear to live with you again.
I swallow the little pill that gives my family so much hope.
I wait, I wait, I wait.
Slowly, you disappear.
Goodbye old friend.




Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

Site Feedback