Confusion

TW// ed references, weight, depression, dissociation, derealisation

I sit in my chair day after day, staring daggers into a screen that speaks sweet words of comfort to me, despite no voice coming from him it. 

I am tired.

I look at the comfort of my bed, right next to my legs,

I could lay down and 

sleep.

But I am too exhausted to move. The wires of my headphones connecting me to my laptop, to my music that only serves to upset me more; music that isn't exactly for comfort, but moreso to find a scrambling attempt at anything that can put into noise the emotions within me.

I haven't worn my favourite shirt in months,

I haven't looked at myself in the mirror in days,

When did I last wash?

For once, I am not just confused on what I should be doing.

My dad walked in twice today, to scold me for the cup of half-drunk, cold tea sat on the dirty carpet by my feet, likely moulding from how long it has been there, and the bowl of the remnants of some lettuce I had gathered the energy to put into a plastic bowl I faintly remember buying from Ikea.

"This is such a cute set of bowls, Kavyi , you should buy them! They're small, too,

just how you like them. Perfect for your yogurt bowls!"

His voice still resounds sweetly in my head.

He's still there. On the other end of the phone.

I am too tired to reply to his good morning texts. The ringing in my ears of my music deafens me to the customised notification sound I set up as a joke, that stupid high-pitched noise making me jump out of my scarred skin every time it stabs my head.

"Next time we meet up, you need to teach me how to do that, Kavyi!! It's really impressive!"

Impressive. Sure. I looked up a YouTube tutorial and got angry when I couldn't do it in 5 seconds.

I turn up my music and go on "Do Not Disturb", even though I have nothing better to do than to boot up an old game that, truthfully, I don't remember what my place was in it anymore.

I looked at my body in the mirror today. I didn't like what I saw.

Why would I? I had drank coffee the previous day and eaten late, of course it would look different. But I suppose all I didn't expect was to see that sickening slight puffiness around the edges that I have grown to hate. The kind that, in 4 hours, with a lot of water, will disappear due to "digestion" or whatever excuse I have been giving myself.

I felt sick. I pulled my shirt down and pressed a pillow to my stomach to soothen the nausea.

"You look like you give great hugs!"

Memories lazily drift by of when my own dad sat me down, crying, and told me he would be taking me abroad to our home country to visit a "better doctor", one that could help me. The pills for months, that made me hate how I looked, ruined my progress over one summer.

"You've always been a bigger kid."

I proved them wrong, but over this summer I messed up a little. Went over my "limit" I set myself ages ago.

Nothing noticeable. Just the slight extra that I notice. That I hate. Looking back on old photos in abject admiration, craving that again, knowing that if I had just been a little more careful, this wouldn't have happened.

It's fine. Give it 3 weeks and it'll be back to normal.

But nothing feels normal anymore. I don't feel normal. I don't feel...

Human?

Real?
Like a person?

I've explained it to him before. Tried to explain that what I feel like, isn't natural. An impostor, of sorts, or maybe something never meant to exist. Something unnatural, that preys off of the sickly buzz of LED lightposts and the hum of background electricity like a leech.

Naturally, I cover it up with a smile. With kind words, that I dish out like the cookies I used to bake for classmates to make them like me, make them see me as a person, even though I could still hear the whispers of their disgust at what I am in the corners of classrooms.

"I love your hair!"
"Your tattoos are so cool!"
"Your shirt is really nice!"

5 new friends in one day.

New college, new friends.

But none of them know what I am.

My own "dad" doesn't know what I am.

Not a human.

Not a person.

What am I?