Taper

via Daily Prompt: Taper

My focus is tapering. It’s narrowing down, more every minute, because I don’t have time. I don’t have time for extra crap. I barely have time for things I love. My mom needs to back off. If she says the word math one more time I am going to scream. I felt invincible a few hours ago. Then she started harping. Now I’m breaking. I have no time. No time to write this. No time for math. Get me out of this house. I can accomplish more on my phone in the car than I ever could here. I need to be away from her. Away from this awful computer. Words are all I have. She wants tangible. Tangible doesn’t matter. Tangible is a finished math lesson handed to her, but it is also the knife slitting my skin. Words are all of the prep work that I do, hours of dedication to plan, conversations to console, and conversations to be consoled. Words have more meaning than anything physical. Words can be reasoned with. You can argue a thought until you reverse it, but once something tangible has been done, there’s no denying it happened. You can’t delete scars.

I was in the kitchen when she started up her tangent about how she’ll stop taking me to things. Right by the knives. The shiny, new blades that I’ve accidentally touched my skin with while cutting fruits that made blood start to trickle. I was in there to get food because I was starving. After she left, my stomach was churning. I still want to puke, but I can’t. If I puke, I’ll be done for two weeks. I won’t go anywhere and I’ll be forced to do math. My skin is crawling. I think that’s why people cut. Your skin just itches and you can scratch for hours but you just find yourself more tense. One slice would make all of your attention turn to it and then the rest of you would feel calm.

Someone just texted me. I found myself pulled back to reality. My breath is steady again, and I can think enough to form full sentences.  I’m breaking. I’m covered in cracks and about to shatter. My ambitions are a stick, being tapered thinner and thinner every moment in the time I have left. Soon, they will be so thin, what’s left will snap, and I’ll be left as a shell of what I once was.

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