The Stranger Of The Photo Is Not Me

1460 WordsSep 22, 20166 Pages
The Stranger in the Photo is Not Me I’ve always felt a strange connection to the stars, one that I have never fully understood. I used to believe that it was simply the night itself that appealed to me. There is something so incredibly compelling about it. It’s not the silence, necessarily, but the way that every breath is amplified; it’s not so much the darkness, but the way that the stars light it up. There is an unparalleled magic to them, to the way that they swirl and writhe and explode of their own accord. Although the moon will orbit for eternity and the stars will eventually fade into submission, it is the latter that I admire the most. I would rather die at the hands of my own power and light than live infinitely off of the nectar of somebody else’s. Perhaps that is why I tried to take my own life mere hours after this photo was taken. I could let the eating disorder, anxiety, and depression that were ravaging my life snatch it out of my hands, I could fight an impossible battle against my own head and begin the long, uncertain road to a seemingly unattainable “recovery”, or I could simply allow myself to explode. I will be the first to admit that the smile of the girl in this photo (bottom row, far left) looks awfully controlled for someone who was about to explode. I will also be the first to admit that I had every reason to be smiling. I was surrounded by my soccer teammates, who had been my metaphorical sisters since we were four years old and our most

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