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Sitting in my sparkly pink dress, I observed the brightest kid in my second-grade class walk across the room to get his division papers; meanwhile, the fact that I was still doing addition was poking at my steadily dwindling confidence. Wearing cheetah-print skinny jeans and a matching sparkly shirt and scarf, I proudly marched up to my teacher on the last day of third grade and gave her my addition flashcards, and she handed me my subtraction flashcards. My school required me to solve a handful of problems in my head in a single minute. I wasn't bad at math. I was just slow.

Christmas of fourth grade, I sat at my desk in my bedroom, surrounded by my playing cousins, working on Xtra Math, a website that quizzes students with math flashcards. I wasn't allowed to join my cousins. I was on division now, and to make sure I'd no longer be behind, my mom wanted me to master it as soon as possible. In the last quarter of fifth grade, my math teacher pulled me aside and told me that if I completed sixth-grade math on ALEKS, an adaptive, online tutoring and assessment program, over the summer, I could go into the seventh-eighth grade math in the fall. My summer was filled with sneaking into my parents' room and office to watch TV while they were at work instead of working on ALEKS. I was grounded the entire summer. However, fall finally arrived, and I advanced into seventh-eighth grade math. Though, it wasn't happily ever after from then on.

For the next two years, I was the worst of the best. I didn't fail, but I certainly didn't ace seventh-eighth grade math or algebra 1. Everything changed when I moved from New Albany, Ohio, to Logan, Ohio. Logan didn't offer Geometry until ninth grade, and I wasn't happy with my A- in Algebra 1, so I decided to retake it. I don't know if it was the slower-paced learning or my second time hearing it, but suddenly, everything clicked. I understood what was going on in class, and I could solve equations quicker than anyone. I had fun, and with my fuzzy pink, cropped hoodie, I aced all my courses that year.

I hated math, but I spent a lot of my childhood working to be better at it. I hated reading, but I spent my summers reading books I didn't like. All I wanted was to spend the day holed up in my room, listening to music and creating original outfits. Now, I love math. I wish there was a job where I solved algebraic equations and proofs all day long. I love reading. There's not enough time in the world to read all the books on my wishlist. I love fashion. I long for the day I'm able to style others for a living. My experiences have allowed me to form relationships with people from entirely different worlds. They've taught me not to make assumptions about people without knowing the whole story.

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Paranoia

Clutching my throat

Horror stories coming to life

This town is my shield, protecting me from humiliation

Yet nothing can pierce the inky black armor enveloping me

But this armor is a prison

And who knows what awaits me on the other side

Haunted, I walk on

There is nothing

I whisper, wishing it to be true

Nothing but crickets, like snot-nosed children

Chanting their meaningless, mundane, noise

The clocks have reset

The world reborn

But to be reborn, you must first die

Heart racing, as if I’d just ran a marathon

I shiver feeling the chilling, dead grasp of my nightmares

Mother Nature

Holding her breath

Watching

Waiting

Listening

She knows what happens next

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Not Exactly Scholarly, But Real Nonetheless

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Not Exactly Scholarly, But Real Nonetheless

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I'm not going to say her name, but this is when I began to realize my closest friend was two-faced and didn't really care about me. I met her when I moved to Logan in eighth grade. At first, I really didn't like her. She sat next to me in all of our shared classes because our last names were next to each other. I was new, and she wanted to be friends with me. That meant she bugged me all the time. After a few weeks, I started warming up to her and the rest was history. I was excited when we got to high school and we had 5/9 classes together. That was probably when our relationship began to go sour. We spent too much time together, and I began seeing the cracks in our friendship, and her personality.
I thought I'd been a good friend. Whenever she was having a bad day, I'd spend all our classes trying to cheer her up. I even switched seats for a day in one class so I could comfort her. It wasn't until I started having bad days of my own that I realized she wouldn't do the same for me. We began having fights almost regularly in front of all our classmates, but it never affected her. We had a lot of the same friends and when we fought, I was always the one left behind. Near the end of freshman year, I was watching nearly all of my friendships crumble as I realized that they were all one-sided. It made me so unbearably upset, that I started crying, and when she saw me? She looked me dead in the eye as tears were falling down my face, and then looked away and continued talking with someone else. When I confronted her about it, she just brushed me off and tried to twist it back on me trying to make me feel selfish/guilty for expecting her to comfort me.
This wouldn't be the last time I realized my "friends" weren't exactly friends. I've gotten over it though. I've come to accept the fact that that's just how people are and that's how the world works. I'm okay with it too. Does it make me sad when I think about it? Absolutely, but I don't get all bent out of shape because of it anymore. I hope that one day, I'll make a friend who understands that relationships take two to work.

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It was Monday, the first day of spring break. I made my decision the Friday prior. On March 27th, 2017, I intended to take my own life. As evidenced by me writing this, I was not successful. I had had everything planned out. I would take a number of pills and hang myself from the oak tree in my backyard with my jump rope. I'd composed letters to my close friends and parents. In retrospect, I understand that it was a rash decision provoked primarily by my first menstrual cycle, vitamin D deficiency, and young and immature thought process. I'm still here today because I was a coward. As I felt the rope tighten around my neck, I was scared. I was just barely tall enough for my feet to find their way back to the stool I'd been standing on. I took my rope and ran from my house. Wandering aimlessly, I tried to figure out what my next steps would be. I was between staying on the run and letting myself starve or trying to find someone who would let me stay with them. When my mom got home from work and saw my letters, she called my sister and then the police. They sent out a helicopter to find me. When an officer came for me, I didn't struggle. They took me back to my house, where an ambulance waited to take me to Children's Hospital. The rope left a mark on my throat, and I threw up the following morning and went home a week later. Three months later, I moved to Logan. Almost exactly four years later, I'd be back at Children's for another weeklong stay.

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The entrance to Purgatory is similar to the entrance to a subway station or a bus stop in a busy city; You never know what kind of people you’ll meet there. Ragged and starved, the Ancient Mariner stops an older-looking man right as he enters Purgatory. The man attempts to avoid the Mariner but finally succumbs to the Mariner’s persistence. The Mariner tells of a story that starts with a storm blowing his ship off course to the South Pole, where the harsh weather provides a steep obstacle in their journey. One day, an albatross appears, and the crew greets it as a good omen. Soon after, the wind picks up and propels the ship forward. For the next week or so, the albatross comes when the sailors call for it and flies behind the ship. Seemingly out of nowhere, the Mariner decides to take his crossbow and shoot the albatross down. As soon as the albatross falls, the wind stops suddenly, stranding the ship on a perfectly calm sea. With no rain to drink, the men become dehydrated quickly and lose the ability to speak. One of the crewmates becomes so enraged with the Mariner that it drives him to hang the Mariner by the neck with the albatross’ body and rope. Later on, the crew spots a phantom ship where Life and Death are gambling with their lives. Fortunately, Life wins, and simultaneously the sky grows gray, and it begins to rain. The crewmate who killed the Mariner throws the body overboard before making it to shore. The story ends with the Mariner telling of how because of his carelessness with the albatross, he’s forced to spend the rest of eternity in the awful realm of Purgatory, telling his story to anyone who will listen. The older man looks at him in shock and bursts into tears. After calming down, the old man admits to the Mariner that he was the one who killed him. Due to him taking vengeance against the Mariner, he will now spend the rest of eternity in Purgatory as well. As recognition dawns on the Mariner, he simply turns and walks away into the vast nothingness. It’s too late for either of the men to redeem themselves, so because of the mistakes they each made, whether they regret it or not, they will be forced to suffer for the rest of their never-ending lives.

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Why can’t I die, I wonder as I sit waiting on the Beaver Creek Bridge. I’ve come to see Esther Hale. It’s said that every August twelfth, she comes to this bridge to wait for the love of her life, who disappeared on their wedding day almost 200 years ago. She died in her wedding dress, among her still-decorated cabin months later. If she touches me, she will become young and beautiful again, and I will quickly grow old and die.

I take in my surroundings and notice just how high up this bridge is. The water below raging, sharing my grief and anger. If I were to fall from here… I look up to see the full moon, reflecting my face. Slowly, I stand on the edge of the bridge and remind myself why I’m here: heartbreak; the relentless barrage of attacks on my tired heart and never enough time for the wounds to fully heal. I can’t wait 339 days. It’s funny, I think, I’ve always been petrified of heights, and here I am… Just as I’m about to take my final step, I hear a hauntingly beautiful voice scream, “Wait!” I stumble backward onto the bridge and look towards the voice. I see a woman as pale as the moon in a yellowing, tattered wedding dress. Although her face is somewhat decayed, she looks beautiful in a way. As she gracefully walks across the bridge, I can’t help but stare. She has feet. I mentally kick myself for stereotyping ghosts. When she reaches me, she carefully asks, “Why?” Just the one simple word brought on an onslaught of emotions, and the tears that had been welling up all night instantly started to pour.

Roughly an hour and lots of tears later, Esther looks me dead in the eye (pun intended) and tells me, “I am not going to kill you.” Great, my life is so pathetic even a jilted bride-to-be feels sorry for me.

“What about your beloved groom? If you kill me, you’ll become young again, and you can find him and finally have your wedding. Isn’t that what you’ve been waiting for? Someone, to give you your youth back?”

Laughing, she responds, “Child, I’m well over that sorry excuse for a man. Truth is, I just don’t know how to move on from this life. I have so many regrets; I should have lived the rest of my life out to its fullest instead of wallowing in self-pity. I pushed away everyone who loved me. But it’s been far too long, and they’ve all passed on by now.”

“But, but-” Struggling to find my words, I reach out to her. Maybe it works the same way if I touch her.

Sighing, she stands up, just out of my reach, “Goodbye, child. Find your peace before it’s too late.” Just like that, she walks back over the bridge and vanished into thin air.

Reluctantly, I pick myself up for what feels like the millionth time in my life. I came to this bridge to see Esther Hale, and I did. It just didn’t turn out the way I’d hoped. The light at the end of this never-ending tunnel is 339 days away. I only need to hold on for 339 more days.

… 69 days later …

I’ve come back to the bridge, even though I know I won’t see Esther. I look at the terrain, taking in the tree’s changing colors. The cool wind kissing my cheeks, lifting my hair from my shoulders. The river, startlingly calm, welcoming me, telling me it is okay, hiding the jagged rocks beneath its surface. Serenity washing over me, I back up a few paces, run and leap off the bridge like a bird still learning its own body. Finally, finding freedom.