What living is

I can sit on the roof, because it easily holds my weight.

I’m talking about the roof of our garage, which is about half as high up as our house’s roof.

I sit there with a blanket in my lap and a dirty mattress underneath my naked feet.

The air is fairly cold for a spring day, but that’s what the blanket is for, right?

I dig my hands deeper into my legs, because I just can’t seem to figure out this stupid plot-hole, and it really is getting on my nerves.

“Alex!”, I hear my mom yelling from somewhere inside the house.

“Yes?”, I yell back. No answer.

“Yes!”, I yell a second time.

“Come eat, please!”, a sound, as quiet as a whisper, reaches me finally after yelling ‘yes’ for another two times.

When I close my laptop and climb back inside through our bathroom window, she’s already standing in front of me.

“I heard you, you know.”, I tell her. She just nods.

“How are you?”, she then proceeds. I think for a second and then answer, “I don’t want you to ask me that anymore.”

“Why? Are you not okay, honey? Should we call your therapist?”

“No, Jesus. It’s just annoying, okay?”, my words come out a little harsh.

“What would be annoying about that? You know, you’re still sick. Or are you not?”

This makes me angrier than I thought it would.

“Just leave me alone, will you?”

And with that I storm into my room and bang the door shut.

This might seem like a minor inconvenience, but for some reason it hits me hard.

I sit in my bed and my eyes start to wet on their own. I pull my hair and cry a little. But the tears aren’t burning like they used to.

I try to think of something to comfort me when I realize why I’m actually crying.

I’m crying because mom was being stupid. I’m crying because I’m angry at her. I’m crying because I’m mad.

I cry until I can’t anymore, and then I understand why I didn’t want mom to ask me how I am.

It’s because today, for the first time in two years, I am feeling.