Who was I, years ago? 

Yes. 

Get out of my way 

 

If only broken hopes didn’t exist. Didn’t hurt

But they do

I’d destroy. 

 

I’d destroy the “no"

 

I want to do the things I want to do

 

I want to love my life

I want to do whatever the fuck I want with my life

I keep getting “no”, “no", “no" so many nos.

 

But I want more than “no”. 

 

I am far from who I say I am. 

 

Or want to be

 

I am jealous. Of everything I don’t have. 

 

It still hurts.

It still hurts that those kids told me “no”, I shouldn’t have written that play after that play was the only thing I’d loved that whole year. 

 

Why can’t I let go?

 

I wish I didn’t have scoliosis because then I can’t even imagine what my life would be, but I would be my height and I wouldn’t have to worry

 

About standing straight and tall  

 

about dying because my lung collapsed

about getting the surgery and dying because they hit a nerve and can’t rewind. 

 

I wish I wasn’t bipolar. 

But the worst part of THAT is 

that it’s a lie.

Because, you know what?

 

The diagnosis is real. The meds are real. 

But it’s wrong - and it all makes sense

 

I like having emotions that are bigger than they should be. I used to - before - sometimes I want to know what it’s like 

 

- what I’m like -

 

Again

 

I like feeling like I want to kill myself. 

 

It makes me feel comfortable. Being in the stigma. 

 

Is that bad? 

 

Maybe it’s because it forces me to isolate myself. Or that I prefer to think of myself almost dead. 

 

Although that scares me. I don’t want to be no more. I think about it and I wish it, or I wish to hurt myself, or… 

 

I think I may be forgetting. These drugs are quick 

— I feel uncomfortable in my skin, like it’s crawling on me and I want- 

 

I need-

 

to get out. 

 

Nothing in my life makes sense anymore

 

I’m living a life that isn’t mine. Because I don’t yet know, when I write this, that things can make sense. That everything in me can make sense as a whole - not disparate dysfunctional parts

 

Who I am, the real diagnosis, what would my real meds do? 

 

I’m a writer, but I don’t write and when I do it’s never real.

 

There’s nothing in my future 

 

it’s just going to be like this forever. This darkness, even in the sun, oh, the sun is worse because then I get sweaty and I hate myself more for sweating, more through my right armpit, of course, because I’m deformed. 

 

Because I’m a hunchback. 

 

Because I wear a brace. 

 

Because when I say that people look at me funny and say

 

“Oh, that must be uncomfortable.” 

 

To you, with your delicate, sensitive bodies, oh, yeah, it would be uncomfortable 

 

But for me? 

 

I’ve been wearing a brace since I was 12. 

 

Somedays, it’s hard not to still wear it all day long. 

 

Somedays, I need to put it on as soon as I get home. 

 

Somedays I have to wear a steel-boned corset for a little extra inconspicuous support. 

 

And it’s the most comfortable I ever get. 

 

The most comfortable I ever get is at night when I put my brace on and I lie down in bed. 

 

That’s the best part of my day, 

 

the part when I don’t have to move every two minutes because my 80 degree curve is making me uncomfortable, 

 

because I can’t be comfortable. 

 

And I will never be able to get comfortable in my entire life. 

 

Except at night. 

When I put my brace on and lie down. 

 

But, no, I can’t get mad at you, for saying it looks uncomfortable. 

Because you don’t know. 

You are ignorant of this part of a life. 

You don’t know about braces. 

You don’t know what a twist in your spine feels like halfway down your back or feel your ribs rub together because they’re too close to each other. 

 

All I can do is smile and say, “You’d think. But it’s actually pretty comfortable for me.”

 

Why must we live our lives in response to and around other people?

 

Why can’t we just live ourselves 

 

and do what we want. 

 

As I’ve grown older, I’ve found myself in a smaller and smaller box. 

 

Recently, for some reason, I 

 

notice 

 

when people say yes, or tell me to go for it.

 

It surprises me. 

 

Because the "no" is rampant. 

 

"no" in the library, "no" in the restaurants, "no" at the theater, "no" in the stores and in the post offices, "no" at home. "no" in the bookstore. "no" telling me 

 

I can’t do something 

 

I need - imperatively - to do. 

 

Those are the worst. 

 

Because we live in response to and around other people

 

Gatekeepers

 

Who don’t know

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©2017, 2025 Annika Nori Ahlgrim