- There’s something wrong with my head
- It’s not a bump
- I wish it was a bump
- Even if it was a gross, protruding bump that made people afraid to look at me
- I could handle that
- I would dress it up—draw a face on it or something. I don’t know.
- Make it pretty.
- I can’t make the inside pretty.
- I wish I could but
- I can’t
- These are some thoughts that infect me
- Scream right now. Right now. Do it.
- Flip the table. Now. Flip it or hold your breath until you pass out.
- Hold your breath until you pass out. Do it.
- I do it.
- I have to do it.
- Scream, pass out, flip things.
- If I don’t, I will die.
- If I don’t, my whole family will die.
- My family is small and not very nice to me but I still don’t want to see them die.
- I saw my twin brother die
- When we were kids
- I was not a fan.
- I doubt he was, either.
- Or maybe he was.
- He doesn’t have a voice in his head.
- He doesn’t have a head
- Or a voice
- Sorry.
- I guess in many ways, I’m the lucky one
- Mom told me that before
- Don’t you know how lucky you are?
- After I got sent home from school for stripping naked and attempting to flush my clothes down the toilet
- I made a mess
- A huge fucking mess! Mom yelled
- I told her it wasn’t me
- It was the voice
- Newsflash, Tommy!
- It wasn’t a yell, it was a scream.
- EVERYONE has a voice in their head
- It echoed in my room with two beds
- You’re not special—don’t give me that bullshit excuse!
- I don’t think I’m special, I wanted to tell her
- I think I’m cursed
- But the words didn’t come out
- Instead, urine came out
- Piss yourself. Piss yourself right fucking now or else your heart is going to stop.
- I peed.
- Mom screamed.
- Dad came in
- He was drunk
- He pushed me against the wall
- I hit my head
- I hoped for a bump
- (An explanation)
- He spit as he screamed
- Why do you have to make everything so hard on us?
- No bump ever formed.
- (No explanation)
- He shook my shoulders
- Banged my head again
- You’re so goddamn selfish!
- Through tears and over dad’s shoulder, I saw mom on her knees with disinfectant spray and a rag
- I closed my eyes
- I Imagined Tyler’s face
- But it’s the same as my face
- So it didn’t help
- I can’t stand being in this body
- My body
- I miss Tyler
- I miss his voice
- I miss the way he could read my mind
- I miss having hot dog eating competitions with him
- I miss winning
- I miss not having a stranger’s voice in my head
- I think mom and dad think it’s my fault that he died
- As if I told the drunk driver to be drunk at 7:30am
- As if I told the drunk driver to swerve off the road
- As if I told Tyler to walk on the side closest to the drunk driver
- I broke my arm
- And bumped my head
- But no one seems to remember
- Or care
- Or miss the old me
- I miss the old me
- I miss my old family
- I miss the warmth of the sun on my skin
- The friends I used to have
- The brain I used to own
- It’s a scary thing
- To not own your body anymore
- To not be believed
- To not be trusted
- To keep everyone around you alive every single day, no matter the cost
- And to never, ever even hear the words
- Thank you
Jordyn Damato is a writer, lover, dreamer, in that order. She is currently an MFA fiction candidate at Miami University in Oxford, Ohio. Her work has appeared in Brilliant Flash Fiction and Bullshit Lit. Her favorite thing to do is hug.