.

“Good morning!”

The greeting rings through the class as she walks in, her laptop bag slung over her shoulder, breath heavy and calves aching from the long walk to school. She’s sweaty, hot and overdressed; she’s wearing yesterday’s pants because she got up late; she’s rushing to get in her seat because the walk took longer than anticipated.

“Good morning,” she mumbles back, flopping ungraciously into her seat, her bag dropping to the ground next to her with a resounding thump. She stares woefully at the heavy pseudo-carryall, then sighs as she takes her sweat-drenched spring coat off. She’s self-conscious about her physical appearance: her short hair is messy and unkempt; her lips are dry, cracked and caked with blood; her clothes are out-of-date; she has a protruding gut and big thighs.

Looking down at herself, she sees her stomach and feels the heat coming to her cheeks. She wipes her sweat-covered brow, looking up ahead at the First Aid kit hanging on the classroom wall. Heaving a sigh, she looks about aimlessly, listening to her classmates’ conversations, observing quietly as they text and play games on their iPads. Without realizing it, she’s begun staring at one of her classmates, Crystal. Crystal notices, and smiles gently at her.


“How was your night?”


Giving a slight start, she straightens herself in her seat, clearing her throat. She flinches internally at the question. “My night?“ she muses to herself, staring blankly at her classmate. “I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t stop thinking. I couldn’t stop worrying. I kept going back to bad memories. My back hurt. My head ached. I dreaded the walk this morning. I didn’t finish my assignment. I was wondering how the Hell my sister will keep going to school. I was wondering how she’ll be, her father having kicked her out with nowhere else for her to go. I was pondering why I’m bothering with life. I felt as if a giant shadow was looming over me, waiting for the perfect opportunity to spring at me. I became suicidal again over the past few weeks. My night? It was terrible.”

“It was fine,” she answers with a wide, happy smile. It’s fake, but no one seems to notice.Thank God. Crystal smiles back at her, eyes bright.

“That’s good,” she replies softly before turning back to her original interlocutor.

Somehow, she manages to hold her own smile as they go back to their conversations, gentle voices echoing through the classroom. The voices die down slightly as the teacher walks in, but pick back up again as the same questions are repeated: “Good morning!”, “How are you today?”, “How was your night?”, “Did you correct our homework we handed in last week?”

She fades in the background, not noticing the worried glance the teacher throws her way. She’s engrossed in her thoughts, the remains of her internal tirade resonating through her fragile mind, weakening it with every blow. Always the same questions. Always the same answers.

I need to stay strong. Not for me, but for others. They’re more important. Who gives a fuck about me? I certainly don’t. I’m worthless anyways; might as well give y self-worth to others.

It feels endless to her: the days drag on and on, the nights are short. She breathes calmly and takes out her iPad. Class has started.

“Depression. It’s like a shadow that constantly LOOMS over you, like a shadow that never disappears … No matter how much light there is.”