On My 18th Birthday, My Parents Drove Me to the Ai…

Several people glanced at me and quickly looked away. One older man slowed, as if considering whether to ask if I needed help, then kept walking when my sobs became louder. I cried for the girl who had gone to sleep believing maybe.

I cried for every birthday that had passed like an ordinary Tuesday. I cried for the years I had spent trying to become easier to love. Better grades.

Quieter footsteps. Cleaner room. Softer voice.

No complaints. No questions. I cried because some part of me had always suspected I was unwanted, but suspicion and proof are different kinds of pain.

Eventually, the crying stopped because bodies cannot sustain disaster forever. My breath became ragged. My face felt swollen and hot.