That time of night
by Lila Coen
9/30/24
That time of night when it’s too early to fall asleep but I don’t want to be alive right now. Not because I am scared of feeling but because I can’t.
Sinking.
I have come to the realization that my lungs are in my hippocampus because when I think about her I can’t breathe.
Sinking.
It feels like water and I will tell you what I did last night. It was eleven pm and I should have been sleeping because I pulled the covers over my head until I couldn’t see my fingertips curling in front of my eyes. It looked like wet grass thin and stepped on and cold because wet grass is cold and rained on. But I am under the covers in a black room that doesn’t feel safe because I didn’t shave and my legs have little bristles sticking out and I need to shave my legs and my armpits before I can sleep. And it is eleven pm and I shower too late because then it is black outside like the kind of black where no one else exists in the world and that is the most terrifying thought I have ever had. I am alone. And it is black outside and I turn on the shower and turn the knob to the bottom and the reflective part of the knob is facing the bottom of the shower and it feels like acid burning through the hairs in my arms. I won’t turn the lights on because I waited to shower this late so I can’t see myself. Turn on the flashlight on my phone and strip of clothes. I don’t put the clothes in the hamper because I can’t see where that is and my memory and sense of direction is shit.
I pull down my pants and lift up one foot and then the other so my feet are standing over the polyester of my leggings. Stretch my toes on the leggings and it is still warm. Next I pull down my underwear and let my fingers drift to in between my thighs. Press up against the place my legs touch and I try not breathe whiter.
I am sinking.
I don’t wear bras anymore because I have gotten over the delusion that I need them. To fucking flat to be a sixteen year old girl and everything is deep.
I am drowning.
Now I am in the shower and I grip the edge of the glass door and it feels like skin. There is a ghost living between inside the plastic box of the shower where heat is trapped inside smother me. I try not to flinch at the heat and—
This is what it feels like to melt.
I whisper this to myself so I will remember this moment.
I am crazy inside my head and try to remember the things I say so I can tell my therapist and convince her that I am less crazy than she thinks.
Water is acid and it burns and I am
Sinking. I try to feel for the soap and I
Can’t see so I slather
Shampoo on my arms instead. I don’t know if this is my arms. Pick my finger nails until they bleed and then pick the nail beds until there is a thin layer of pink skin that tries not to bleed.
I don’t have memories. I am bad at staying awake and after 10:30 I am not myself anymore. My hippocampus became water and melted between the cracks in my fingers and I am motionless.
Sinking.
Peel at pruning fingertips.
I wonder what it feels like to die. I have this need to know and know everything and I said this to Shayna and she thought there was something wrong with me. Of course there is but I don’t think I am at the point where curiosity makes me kill myself just to know what happens. I used to dream of this and I was a fucked up child. I stroke the top of my thighs with a razor blade and then brush my finger against the space and hold my breath at how soft it is without hair.
Sinking—
I think the worst part of the shower is holding my breathe and cringing when I
Step out because the cold air crushes my lungs and my stomach becomes a rock inside my skin. Choke. Choking.
I shaved everything and everything about myself and now I am clean but the goosebumps on my arms are so fucking itchy.
Itchy so fucking itchy.
I am water. Sinking.
***
(This piece is part of our yearlong series called Heart Beets that features the work of a group of teen writers, giving us a glimpse into their journey through the school year.)