• Depression is a Bitch

    Circumstantial Evidence

    It started at ten years old. Fourth grade tested my patience; I snuck books under my desk and made myself ill just to distract myself from boredom. I noticed sometimes if I tugged gently at my eyelashes, they would come right off in delicate little clumps. Sometimes three, sometimes five, sometimes as many as eleven would fan across my index finger like I had blinked them off. Eyelashes began dusting my desk at school, the pages of the books I read. Pretty soon the soothing feeling of yanking them out addicted me. I started sporting itchy bald patches on my eyelids, eyes burning and watering. My mom noticed and asked,…


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