I locked myself in a bathroom two days ago.
It was a single-stall bathroom on a college campus
With my friends having fun and laughing in the next room.
I didn’t go to the bathroom because I had to use it,
But because I had to get away.
I needed to escape from the crowd and be alone,
Even though more these days than ever,
I yearn for physical affection and support.
All I want is to be held and hugged and comforted
By those same people I run away from,
Out of fear of being left alone.
I locked myself in a bathroom for half an hour.
I spent the start of the time crying about the lack of love and care
The people I love and care for have for me,
And how unimportant and not special I am to everyone
Who is so important and special to me.
I spent the next portion of the time staring at myself in the mirror,
Thinking about all the things I want to accomplish in life,
But will never happen because I’m not as capable
As I like to pretend I am.
The next thing I did was look up the Trans Lifeline number.
I put it in my contacts,
But didn’t call.
I just stared at the number in my phone
For what felt like ages,
Telling myself how pathetic I am that it’s come to this,
And that my very existence in the universe
Is inconvenient and irritating to others,
And it would be even to the people who get paid
To talk to person after person
About the same genre of fucked up issues
In their lives and in their brains
And say:
“Don’t kill yourself. It gets better.”
Then I watched a spider making their web in the sink of the bathroom.
I thought about how much simpler life would be
As that tiny spider.
I wouldn’t depend on others so heavily,
I wouldn’t ever have to even think about gender,
Finances,
Image;
All that would matter would be my beautiful web.
My work of art would vary from all the others in the slightest,
And it would be uniquely my own
While never having to worry about
Onlookers or judges or competition.
The last thing I did when I locked myself in a bathroom
Was realize that unless somebody came for me,
I couldn’t rejoin the group casually
After being gone without explanation for so long.
I stood directly in front of the door,
Intricately thinking of and analyzing
Every possible scenario of
Strolling out of the bathroom and back to join the group.
Not a single hypothetical was one I could mentally or emotionally handle.
I considered the option of taking my life away
In that very bathroom.
I didn’t know how I’d do it,
But surely I could find a way.
September 4th, 2016--
That seems like a fine day to go down in the records
As the day Skylar Rella killed themselves,
I thought.
I finally pushed aside all thoughts and
Embraced my fear of leaving the room,
And facing the group all alone.
I reached for the handle of the door.
My heartbeat quickened,
And I feared that as soon as I opened the door,
After having collected myself to the best of my ability,
I’d break down and lose it
All over again.
And I knew that if this very thing happened once,
It would happen every attempted escape,
And I would be trapped in that same fucking bathroom
My whole life
In a viciously dangerous cycle
If no one ever came to save me.
But before I even opened the door,
Still holding the handle,
There was finally a knock,
And my heart did a backflip.
I experienced an intense wave of relief and fear
As my mind raced for the right words to say,
The right things to do.
I had forgotten how to speak.
But when I fought against my own body to open the door,
I was no longer alone,
And while I was still full of fear,
Everything felt the slightest bit better
Not alone.
About the Creator
Skylar Rella
visual & performing artist.
original art attached to written pieces.
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