The Choir

Content Warning: psychosis, reference to suicide

I drew the Six of Swords yesterday morning for my journal prompt. What are you moving towards? What must you leave behind to do so?

There is no light at the end of this tunnel, and yet moving forward is better than the silent choir of children behind me. When I came upon them, they tilted their heads and eyes back and opened their mouths as dark inside as the tunnel, but no sound came out.

I kept my disability to myself until I was twenty. I knew I needed help when I thought I could cut out the orb of chaos in my chest with my desk scissors. The orb was bright with a molten core, churning and making my skin singe with agitation. Instead of cutting my chest, I texted Kevin and asked if I could come to his dorm room. I didn’t tell him about the orb or the pain or the years or insanity — the past doesn’t speak in the language of our tongue, and I couldn’t process fast enough what I was feeling — so I just sat in his room, pretending to read while he worked through his organic chemistry problem set.

Kevin is an orthopedic surgeon now. I wonder if he remembers the silences between us, especially after I told him my brand new diagnosis. We didn’t need to say anything while we scrolled on our phones in the common room; I knew and he knew that the heart is a mouthless thing, a fact that is in turns gracious and frustrating: gracious because what could be said anyway? Frustrating because I craved the moment words can conjure. A moment of perfect synchronicity, same-pagedness, of unequivocal understanding.

Silence isn’t serving me anymore. I weep for that choir of children because I know they are me. Me in sixth grade — the first time I considered killing myself. Me at night hearing screams and laughter so realistic I got out of bed and went to the upstairs balcony to peer into the dark living room. Me right before my twentieth birthday really believing a new day is a curse.

All those children mine, so shouldn’t I finally sing for them?

A drawing of mine depicting what it’s like living with bipolar I and psychosis.

This is a response to a Creative Neighbors prompt. Give them a follow! And if you enjoyed this post, give it a like and share <3 It really means the world to me when you do.