The Reality of “ER”

        I’ve never just been there. For the past three months I’ve been closer, farther, healthier, calmer. Not done. Not ready. It feels as if I’ve been suspended in midair between my fears and my dreams, yet they are both the same thing at once.

        It sounds fractious, but it is hard when you are never enough. And it feels like that is what I am. I’m never enough for my psychologist, because I don’t know the right answers. I’m never enough for my parents, whose weekly weigh-ins always result in a frown, the slight tilt of the head, and a condescending “you are getting there.” But mostly importantly, I’m never enough for myself. I keep failing to perform one of the most basic tasks humans are ever asked to do. Babies eat, old people eat, blind people, crazy people, all people. And I can’t do it. What does that make me?

       I’ve been “closer” forever, and it seems like things will stay that way. I’ve learned that sometimes feeling confident in yourself isn’t victory enough, and that other people making your decisions isn’t comforting, it’s terrifying. I feel pressure from all ends of the universe, and they are continuously colliding in the pit of my stomach. It makes me nauseous.

In the distance, where it seems the entirety of my life exists, I can see a girl who looks just like me. But she isn’t who I am. This girl is in control. She doesn’t know what it’s like to live with what I do. Because she is strong. I am weak.

I run as fast as I can to reach her. I can almost feel her t-shirt in the palm of my hand. But without warning, she disintegrates, and I am left with nothing. Not close enough to reach, close enough to see.

Just closer.