Contaminated
The day I got diagnosed with bipolar disorder was the day I chased my best friend down the street with a butterfly knife.
The day I got diagnosed with bipolar disorder was the day I chased my best friend down the street with a butterfly knife.
I came across an old lady laying on the side of the road in the middle of the night and when I approached her she looked up and asked, "Did I win the race?".
I rapidly counted and recounted the change in my pocket as I waited for the procession.
When I asked him how his day had been my father shrugged and said "It was okay," in a non-committal way, because we were still ten minutes from home, and only then would he feel able to tell me my brother had been killed.
As a child, my parents convinced me that when the ice cream truck played its song, it meant the ice cream was finished.
I wonder if it would be worse to tell my daughter she caught me snorting pain pills or let her keep believing it was coke.
My vacation is ruined knowing that 1,800 miles away my cat pooped on the living-room floor.
Five years later, I still have a scar of my husband's entire dental impression from when he bit my abdomen.
The memorials were covered in hundreds of flowers and the bouquet we had bought from Albertson's blended in with the rest of the blossoms.
I knew I had to find a steady boyfriend when the cat ate my birth control pill.
When I was 14 I saw a gang of younger kids killing a wild rodent, so I went behind the apartment building and cried.
My oldest sister once curiously asked my Grandma Helen why her phone number was written on her arm.
I can't believe that you smiling at me was the highlight of a day where I got an A on a test, found twenty bucks, and won a debate.
One of my best friends in high school killed himself after the only girl he ever asked out turned him down at the risk of being less popular, which is a shame because he would have been the best first boyfriend I ever had.
25 years later, I still feel guilty for shooting that leopard frog in the head with my BB gun.
The day I was ready to tell him "Yes" was the day he came in holding my best friend's hand.
After months of separation and pain, my wife, who was a high school teacher in North Carolina, invited me back home only to have a high school student in her bed when I arrived.
Fortunately, my landlord didn't ask how my job is going this month.
I realized how sad my life is when I found myself reading a graduate mathematics reference text for pleasure on a Friday night.
It's my sixteenth birthday and I've only gotten happy birthdays from a radio DJ and a website.
"Just lock your door at night" is not a reasonable thing to say to your 12-year-old daughter when she tells you her stepfather is molesting her.
The happiest moment of my life was when I won a pack of Sprite on the radio.
A week after his death I got an email from my mother in law informing me that my father had hung himself in the basement of the house I grew up in, and she ended the letter with "I didn't call because I don't know how you would react to such terrible news."
After three years of Alzheimer's ravaging his mind, he looked at me, his 18 year old granddaughter, and asked, "Are you mad at me mommy?"
Having no guilt over terminating a pregnancy is making me feel guilty.
She often cries while watching him sleep, hands clasped on his chest, reminding her again of his sister's tiny corpse.
My parents believed that black and white people were equal until I started dating a black man.
While he is in Alaska living an adventure, I am here, missing my father.
I hate the jerk who left the Post-It note on my door saying: "Your boyfriend called, he wants to break-up."
This year, on my birthday, I will eat alone at the restaurant where I spent my happiest birthday which eventually turned into the birthday which made me despise birthdays.
Alone in a cheap hotel room at 2am, I realized I'd never felt more at home.
If you've never seen your friend's baby girl wave goodbye to her daddy as his casket leaves the funeral, I want to be you.
Over the last month, the cold reality of life has struck since one uncle died, another uncle had a stroke, my mother found out she has breast cancer and my grandmother is on her way to an assisted living facility.
With all the tags for "college" I finally feel connected to my age group.
She said that the scrunchie that I took out of my work bag was not hers.
My father died as I asked my grandmother why she was crying.
What if, for me, socializing has sincerely become a chore, a burden to have to deal with during times when I can't enjoy solitude?
It's sad that my mother's cancer-filled dog seemed more frisky and alert on the day before he was put to sleep than he had been in years.
The cardboard paper camel I made my stepfather for his birthday is still hanging on the wall, left and abandoned, like us.
My face looks exactly like my mother's did, before a head-on collision with a drunk driver led to her complete facial reconstructive surgery.
As I was a suicidal, gay teen, I sometimes wish I'd get HIV so I'd be spared having to think of a future I'm not sure I ever wanted.
I was in the frozen food section when his favorite song came on the radio and I had to sit down to cry.
The cold night precursed a cold week, with no sunshine in the forecast.
When I found out he got in, I gave him a congratulatory hug that made me feel the farthest I've ever been to him.
As the belt loop on my pants broke at the rehearsal for my brother's wedding, my mother told me I was fat when I only weigh 110 pounds.
The work week seems to be a repeating blip that echoes a nasty scratch on the record of life.
I moved away to college thinking that I wouldn't miss my family, but I really wish I could see them right now.
I went on the page again, only to see that none of my sentences were posted.
When my best friend and the love of my life were both taken into police custody for the same crime, the saddest part was admitting to myself I knew who had done it.
I never knew what I wanted from life, except to be a better father to my children (if I have any) than mine was to me.
After our usual back fence bull session, complaining about shady politicians and the sad state of the world, my neighbor walked into his house picked up a shotgun and blew his head off.
One of the worst feelings in the world is when you realize you weren't really paranoid after all.
My lover told me that she was drunk and wouldn't talk to me because of that, so I went to get drunk myself.
I was more than half asleep when I heard my father speaking, but I didn't understand he was telling me she was dead.
Mom, I never told you what they did to me, because I was ashamed and I was afraid you would think it was my fault.