excerpts from the book i'll never write

by Nadia Nell Starbinski

I am sad. Not in this beautiful way that everyone romanticized. I am anxious. Not in this aesthetic where claiming to have mental illness is worth bragging about. I am lost. In every definition of the word. I am suffocating, yet I am the one holding the bag over my head.

There are plenty of ways to kill yourself. Stick a gun to the back of your throat, fall asleep in the garage with the car on, jump into a river and let the rock in your chest where your heart used to be drag you to the bottom, smoke too many cigarettes, bleed yourself dry. I think the most effective way is kissing someone who’s name you will never be able to say without shaking.

Sometimes there are people who come into your life and leave a permanent mark. They paint your soul different colors and change the way you see the world. When they leave, you realize that somewhere along the way you lost yourself. You don’t even know who you are anymore because they made you into something completely different. I don’t miss you. I miss myself.