NATALIE NIMS 

20 seconds before the next episode starts

Natalie Nims  |  TW: themes of guilt

20,

The light slams against my wafer wings. My flesh prickles as I reach for air, tears, and the smell of deeply sour sunlight. I twirl this new name on my tongue. 

19, 

I will soon learn that life is full of disappointments and that they look like the grass stains that never leave when fought with my mother’s detergent and I wish that wasn’t true because I have so many pesky grass stains that I cannot scrub away. 

18,

It's all caught in my throat, the lump of tears breaking with the weight of time. 

17, 

200 years ago, we were eaten by lions so we learned to close our eyes and dream of the dazzling riverside stones instead of rose-edged teeth. When I realized I was sitting on the couch in a pile of blankets and discarded popcorn thinking of my emotional state, I managed to hold onto that and live in the empty fear of an uncontrollable countdown. 

16,

I buy rich chocolate ice cream bars that melt on my tongue and burn all the guilt into embers of caramel. Most of the time, I tape the wrapping back together like a child fumbling to reconstruct a broken vase before their mother comes home. Other times, I binge four seasons of a comedy show so that I don’t feel empty

15, 

I don’t know how to fix things. Somehow, I retain the memory of being a stable window. The breeze passes through me. I thank the bees buzzing on the wire. I have holes in places that cannot be patched. I am okay. Still, I can’t accept the fact that I smashed the window. That the glass is intertwined with the sill and is cutting through the trees. Now anytime summer passes through the narrow spaces, it whistles in pain. 

14, 

Can I be whole again? if I bake some apple pie and drink lemonade? I could pick up that old book on my shelf and delve so deep beneath its pages that I’m nearly transported to another place. I’ll relearn the lyrics to Hamilton. Yes, yes, I think I can do this.

13, 

Maybe if I don’t click the play button, the world won’t start. I’m scared to face myself in the mirror because what I have become is difficult to gaze upon. At least it’s better than it was twelve seconds ago. It’s better than it was a year ago. 

12, 

I start to look over the pictures and the calendars and all the therapy appointment notes on my phone. Mental health slumps are a bit like treading water. The chlorine seeps into your skin and you forget it’s always been there. The flopping of sandals and the jagged voices of instructors. On good days, the stars lift you up. Then you realize that nobody is coming to save you. Nobody is going to take you out of the pool. 

11, 

What if I didn’t? Maybe I could save myself from the whirring of a dying massager and the laugh tracks of a show. The world will shift and squiggle like a malfunctioning kaleidoscope but I don’t have to endlessly drone in its coggs. 

10, 

Anxiety is a game of ‘if’s’ and even if I’m broken beyond repair, if I can’t get to the grassy hill filled with baby’s breath, I would have done something that won’t leave me with a circle in my palm and a hexagon shaped hole in my chest. 

9, 

This is it, I’m escaping this jail hung over a cliff. I’m jumping in the water and finally swimming to the shore.

8, 

I’m less indulged in my overwhelming want for perfection. Not drowning in the fear of the drifting subconscious. 

7,

A weight has been lifted. I’m not floating, not yet but I’m up. I’m moving and I’m trying not to be scared. Trying not to clip my wings because the guilt and panic told me to as I laid on my side listening to old rock n’ roll. 

6,

Flying is wonderful but lying on the beach with a flourishing dress on and staring at the sunset proves to be better. I’m calm. 

5, 

The clocks won’t always cause shivers to drop down my back like the keys of a tampered piano. Growing is okay, the universe does it sometimes. 

4, 

House cleaned and makeup on. I don’t think I’ll dye my hair again, I like the way my natural locks twirl. They should be here any minute in a bright blue car. We’ll be humming the tune of the musical we’re going to see because we’ve already watched it ten times.

3, 

I am trying. I was mangled and cracked and tired but I’m patching the pieces with clay. Putting it back together with the help of other people’s hands.

2, 

Here we are. Once more, staring at a blinking white number. Is this what death feels like for those who have accepted it? I reach for the remote, the smooth exit button a foreign touch transporting me to the past. A past I have been through many times.

1, 

Exit. Home Screen. Exit. Shut Down. I don’t need to escape anymore.

Natalie Nims is a teen author based in Ontario. You can find her listening to 60’s songs at 3pm on a Saturday, colouring in one of her various notebooks, or cooking different pasta sauces. You can find more of her in Elementia Magazine and her work is forthcoming in hand picked poetry.