The Central (I'm Nervous) System

 I. Am. Human.

I have two eyes.
I see all my flaws. I see every crooked picture frame and every bruise-like shadow under my eyes. I see everyone around me pretending that they're happy. They never are.
I have a nose.
I smell cigarette smoke on my oldest brother's clothes as I give him a hug. I smell chalk and sweat and fear, everywhere around me. I smell something delicious I try not to eat for fitness's sake- but always give in.
I have two hands.
I feel how warm your hands are. Were. How warm they were. I feel my hands shake and try to take deep breaths so no one around me worries. I hope they don't worry. I would never purposely do that to someone.
I have lips.
They are chapped, dry, and lonely. They either whisper too softly or scream too loud (but somehow only I can hear it). I have to remind them that it's good to be this way. It's better for all of us. Who needs memories. Who needs flashbacks. Who needs........ him..............
I have a heart.
It beats 115,200 times a day- and it hurts worse every time. Except for those days it beats twice as fast, pumps twice as much blood. It happens more and more often. I try to stop it from overriding my brain, to no avail. Dang it heart! Stop loving things that hurt you!
I have a brain.
It does too much. It never takes a break. It is on overdrive every day, as if I'm a computer as opposed to a human being. It worries. Always. It shuts down from worry. Every day. It can't be stopped. Someone find the off button, quick! Save me from my mind!
I have blood.
It flows through my veins. Sometimes it collects just under my skin in bruises... and I relish it. I love bruises. Does that make me inhuman? When I was little, I would press on my bruises when they began to fade to keep them fresh, keep them visible. Sometimes I get scratches on my legs when I hike off the trail. Sometimes I feel like I'm finally living, because I have scratches. Look, that one's bleeding. So's my heart.

And yet-
I go through the same mechanical motions day after day, month after month, year after year. Go to school. Go to practice. Come home. Eat. Regret eating. Don't sleep. Wake up. Repeat.
I am human.

but I'm not really living.