Sometimes I wonder how someone can be so happy and so perpetually unhappy all at once—how someone can have everything that they need and that they want but still feel tears threatening their eyes more often than laughter graces their lips, but it doesn’t matter how little sense it makes because that is how I feel, and I don’t know what to do about it because life everyday pushes me around—the ups and downs driving me mad, and the emotions confusing me more than they confuse those around me that are constantly being rocked by my waves. I am loved and cared for, but all my eyes can see are the moments that instill doubt, and the commotion caused by the brawling of my conscious thought is so blinding that I sometimes can’t even see who I am—my own image is contorted by the chaos, and the two voices have gotten so loud that I can’t even tell which one is mine.

Why can’t I just be normal? Why can’t my mind just be still?

There are many things that I think about myself that I don’t say out loud because I know that no one else wants to hear them, see them, believe them, and I myself don’t even know if they are fact or fiction, but what I do know is that they plague my mind like Egypt in Exodus—swarming, hopping, dripping, dying—I feel the weight crushing me from the inside out, and it takes everything in me to refuse to say the words “you’re right” when the black cloud in my mind has done all it can to beat me into compliance. But I can’t give in. I can’t give in because doing so would be to throw away everything that I have pushed myself to achieve, everything that I have pushed myself to be because I’ve been down this road before—though calling it a road makes it sound as though it could be smooth, as though maybe the scenery is nice and the ride pleasant which is so far from the truth that I would call it laughable if laughing were possible when the monster in your mind has its claws sunk so deeply into your consciousness that smiling hurts because it feels like betrayal. This road is not a road with trees and sunshine and fresh asphalt—it’s a twisting path full of cracks and potholes, the so-called scenery consisting of prompts to starve yourself, reasons to hate who you are, lists of your worst qualities because those are the ones that carry more weight—those are the ones that matter. After fighting and struggling and forcing my way, I convince myself to let me turn back to find the way out of the darkness I have created. I can’t turn back around. Already it is beginning again—the mind games—because I wake up and see my reflection, and the first thing I say to myself is “you are disgusting” the first thing I ask myself is “what is wrong with you?” the first thing I want is to change who and what I see, but that is bullshit—that’s bullshit. The first thing I should say is “I feel good” the first thing I should ask is “what great things do I want to accomplish?” the first thing I should want is to be the best me I can be because I was made to be more that a self-destruct button. I’m fed up with “I hate myself.” I’m fucking tired of tearing myself apart. I am just so done with the hatred, the comparison, the distortion, the lies. The plague in my head can get the hell out because there is blood above my door. I wasn’t created to be filled with emptiness. The goodness that I used to embrace cannot hide in the shadows anymore because the shadows are no longer welcome in this new world that I refuse to let be simply a fantasy because I deserve more than the broken path. I refuse to believe another damn word spoken by the darkness that is formed by insecurity. I cannot retire my sword yet because the battle will not be over until the battlefield is empty.

My breaths are short. My hands, they will not still.

The winds, they do not cease to blow

my hair into my face and down my throat.

The skies are nothing but a vengeful storm,

and all that I can do is close my eyes.

My heart is stripped of all that it once was,

and though it now is made of molten rock,

a heart alone has never been this cold.

But I am not the one to blame for this.

Inhaling gulps of air that reek of pain,

I slump and sit upon the ground and stare

at pieces of my life that now are charred.

There is nowhere for me to go from here.

The tears, they fall and hit the dirt below,

and anger threatens to take hold,

yet satisfying as revenge would be,

I cannot find a way to make them pay.

I cannot even find a way to speak.

I hear the frightened sounds of more like me

and see the smoke that chokes out all things pure.

The sounds of shots ring out, and now I know—

they have returned to tear apart the rest.

Our hope now gone, replaced with blood, we wait

for lead to fly and add us to the sum.

Things are not as clear as they were before

The words overflow from my head

I scramble to collect what I knew once more

Slowly sinking instead

The words overflow from my head

I once was strong, yet here I am

Slowly sinking instead

And my mind blocks out the thoughts like a dam

I once was strong, yet here I am

Trying to do what I’d done before

While my mind blocks out the thoughts like a dam,

I am left crying on my mind’s cold floor

Trying to do what I’d done before,

I strain and strain to remember

I am left crying on my mind’s cold floor

As the months near November

I strain and strain to remember,

Recalling my strong love

As the months near November,

I long for the knowledge time disposed of

Recalling my strong love,

I vow to persevere

I long for the knowledge time disposed of

And will fight till things grow clear

I vow to persevere

Yes, my past is now my task

I’ll fight till things grow clear

For I’m determined to bring my love back

Yes, my past is now my task

I scramble to collect what I knew once more

I’m determined to bring my love back

As things are not as clear as they were before

Staring at his face was unlike anything I had ever encountered--consuming, hypnotizing, beautiful--and the world seemed to come to a complete and total stop because, as soon as he turned and locked his eyes with mine, I was paralyzed from the inside out--beginning in my heart and spreading through my chest, up my neck, down my arms, and around my skull, yet my mind was ablaze with thoughts and wishes and questions; these things I could not comprehend were all I had ever wanted, yet I had no recollection of desiring them before that very moment, for he was entirely unexpected: a mystery hidden behind sparkling eyes and heart stopping smiles, yet I had never truly understood the power that his mystery had over me; no, never would I have expected to feel this way once the secret had been revealed, for when all I had was the confusing fog of his being and my conceptions of what he could be that I had created in my head, I thought that it couldn't possibly become anything more powerful or real, but I was wrong, for what I had imagined was only a fraction of what really was, and all that he was, is, and ever will be is something that no one could make up, something unimaginable, something full of absolute ecstasy.

Day 1.

Why do the worst things happen to those who are most unsuspecting? I look around, and amidst all the horror, I just see people. Men, women, and children roaming around, skin ripping from their bones, minds fogging to the point of near vacancy--all having been swallowed by something that has literally altered them from within. They all had lives-- homes, families, places to be, choices to make-- but it was all taken from them in an instant, and there's no going back. Now I look at my family, and I want to cry. Every minute with them could be my last, and I can't enjoy even a single second. Fear has taken us just as the virus has taken so many others. Is this fate really any better? We have been running since dawn, trying to hide from it all, but does it even matter? I want to be optimistic, and I fake it in from of my kids, but I honestly don't see a way out of this mess. The virus is only going to spread day by day, and then what? Even if we live our lives out till we simply die of old age, what kind of crappy life will it have been? Constantly running, hiding, and fighting off those who wish to kill us? I had so many things that I was looking forward to in this life, but as I take in all that is happening around me, I realize that none of it will ever happen. Today may just be the beginning, but to me, it sure feels like the end.

The growling of an engine pulled me out of my book, and I let out a groan. They were here. Every other person I've ever spoken to has always had such a positive perspective on Thanksgiving, but for my family, the dinner table always turned into a battlefield. Whether it's Uncle Sven pointing out to my mother what a horrible cook she was or Grandpa Afi listing off all the things my father should have done differently while raising us, something always caused a feud, and I wanted no part of it, especially this year. 

 "Clarissa!" My mom shouted up the stairs. 

"What??" I shouted back. I couldn't handle this-- not today. There would be too many questions, too much prying, too many opportunities for me to let something slip. Aunt Tara could talk me into spilling anything, and I knew that today would be no different.

"The family is here, and you need to come down to greet them. Now." 

I cringed and marked my page, knowing that I'd better hurry down. Her temper inflated when accompanied with stress, so today was most definitely not the day to test my boundaries. 

The afternoon started out just as any other Thanksgiving. Aunt Jen walked in followed by her swarm of children who ran underfoot like a bunch of puppies, Uncle Curtis chasing them around like a bear. They were followed by Amma and Afi, then Sven and Tara, and finally Poppa and Mimsy. Within minutes, immense tension had spread throughout the entire house. Afi had cornered my father and was running his mouth about my brother Conner's haircut; three of my cousins had gotten into a fight that rendered one of them with a bloody nose; and Tara was already eyeing my as though she could tell that I had something to hide. I groaned, and tried to slip away, praying that no one would notice. My attempts were in vain, however, for Aunt Tara had quickly made her way across the room, grabbing my arm before I could make my escape. 

"Hello, my dear Clarissa!" she said, mischief twinkling in her eyes. "I asked your mother, and she switched our place cards so we could sit together at dinner. Isn't that wonderful?"

My breath caught, and I smiled weakly. I was completely and utterly screwed.

After two long, torture-infused hours had gone by, it was time to eat. I shuffled to the table indignantly, trying to block out the shouts of my cousins, the bickering of my father and Afi, and the gossiping of my Aunts. My god, I did not sign up for this. As soon as I sat down, Aunt Tara latched on to me like a tick. Questions began to flood out of her, and I couldn't shut her up. She ripped information out of my about everything: school, lacrosse, my job. As long as she neglected to ask about Flynn, I'd be okay. 

"So how about this boyfriend your mother was telling me about?" 

Of course. As if there were any possibility I could make it out unscathed.

"What about him?" I asked, meticulously spreading butter on my roll and doing my best to avoid eye contact.

"Oh, I don't know. Give me the details. How long have you been together? What's he like? ... How far have you gotten with him?" She asked with an impish smile. I choked mid bite. 

"Wait.. Wait, what?" I said, spluttering.

"You heard me."

"I.. I.. Um, well, we have been together for 11 months. He's kind, sweet, understanding, funny, loves kids-- We both love kids, luckily.." I stopped myself. Why had I added that? Stupid, stupid stupid. Loving kids and being ready for them are entirely different things.

"Kids, eh? And what about my last question?" She then froze, staring at me. "Wait, wait, wait, Clarissa. Luckily? Are you implying.." My eyes drifted down to my stomach, and when I glanced back up, my cheeks reddening and tears forming as our eyes met. A look of shock spread over her face, and she opened her mouth wide to speak.

Just then, my 5-year-old cousin, Maddox, knocked over his glass of milk along with his brother's in a fit of rage over god knows what, and the table was quickly flooded. Thank the Lord. I seized the opportunity and hopped up, sprinting to the kitchen to grab some paper towels. Did she know? Oh god, of course she knew. Maybe if I had anything resembling a poker face.. What if she let it slip? Was she really that cruel? I wasn't ready for the family to know-- not yet. 

I spotted Tara whispering with my mom when I came back, and they stopped abruptly and glanced at me simultaneously. My steps slowed, and I handed the paper towels to my mother cautiously. I looked up and all eyes were on me. They knew.