“Bye, have a good day! I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

My friend and I wave to each other and part ways. I watch him get into his Honda Civic before driving away, turning corners so fast that the tires leave black streaks and the sound of screeching in the air.

Getting into our cars, following each other out of the parking lot and off to our separate houses. Taking our different ways, though we live down the street from each other.

Driving home, I pass The Tree. A seemingly sturdy, old oak that sat on the corner of my street and the main road. The first tree I see in the morning as I force myself to go to school and pretend I was passionate about my work; the last tree I see before I run upstairs and throw myself on my bed to cry. The shiny leaves reflecting the sunlight and catching my attention, enticing me to edge the wheel closer…

The Tree is strong.

The Tree wouldn’t fall over if I hit it. 

The Tree would total my Mini Cooper, ripping apart the metal like paper, shattering the glass and flinging me forward like a ragdoll.

They always say “It was quick,” in stories about car accidents, maybe—

“I hate this song,” I say aloud to myself, interrupting my thoughts as I press skip on “Press” by Cardi B. 

I go 40 in a 30, not worrying about the implications if someone were to pull out in front of me, colliding with my car or causing me to swerve into oncoming traffic. 

I pull into the garage, and that is the end of my daydreaming until tomorrow after school. 

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When I mention conversationally to my mother that The Tree is a familiar friend of mine, she is concerned. 

“You don’t understand, everyone thinks stuff like that, Mom,” I say, my voice muffled by the double layer of fuzzy blankets I hide under, unable to make eye-contact with my own mother.

I hear shuffling of socks walking across the carpet and the weight of my mom sitting at the foot of my bed as she sighs and says, “No they don’t, Meaghan. They really don’t.” 

Burying myself further into the pile of blankets, I say nothing to her comment. I hate when my mother is right. But she has a point. 

I considered death like I was debating about wearing my pink or white vans. I felt internal itching compelling me to tear away at my skin to end the constant prickling. I cried after eating until fullness because I was worried people won’t like me if I gained any weight. These things are not normal—at least they shouldn’t be. 

______________________________________________________

I don’t want to be mentally ill. 

I don’t want to be a hormonal, dramatic or self-centered teenage girl who complains about her intangible issues but can’t provide ways to fix them. 

I want to be healthy and stable. 

I crave waking up in the morning and going to school without crying or having to take medications to make me feel normal. Being able to sit in class and not stare at bright white papers with words that blur together and might as well be in a foreign language. Not finding myself leaving class early so I don’t have to bear another second of plastering a smile on my face or pretending I want to talk to my peers. 

I want to be able to look at my mom and friends and boyfriend and teachers in the eyes and believe their compliments. To believe I’m a good person who deserves friends, happiness, attention, admiration or even gifts (I am known for feeling guilty after accepting presents).

Does everyone think about their own Tree? Maybe not a tree, but surely a bridge or river or…something, right? I am in the minority here.

______________________________________________________

“Bye, I hope you have a good day! Be yourself!” I shout at my friend as we both wave vigorously at each other, embarrassing ourselves in front of the unenergetic teenagers dragging themselves out of school and into their cars.

I throw my bag, oversized water bottle and then myself into my car, immediately turning on Christmas music. Simultaneously putting on my seatbelt and forcing the car into drive, I pull out of the parking lot and make my way home. 

I drive past The Tree. Today the leaves aren’t green and shining to draw my attention. Today, the leaves are dull and rather mundane, some falling off due to the changing seasons. The leaves dying and slowly drifting to meet the Earth, The Tree looks almost like…a tree.