Grace is not very graceful. She used to be happy, in fact, her happiness was infectious. Grace used to laugh with her friends in classes and down the halls. She waved at those she knew and smiled to those she didn’t. She was always helping others and volunteering to give answers. She was charming and bubbly. Grace was a dancer; Grace was graceful. But now, Grace is not okay.

Sitting in class she begins to feel sick. Grace is physically uncomfortable within this sickness. Her stomach twists and she shifts awkwardly in her seat. She feels like a splinter being weaseled out of the skin, she knows she should leave. She should leave for her own benefit. But she doesn’t leave, she sits in agony. She sits in pain in classes full of people who can’t tell she is hurting. She frantically flails around the halls praying to make it to class all right. She can feel each movement she makes, painfully aware of how close everyone is to her. She struggles, trying to distract herself from the anguish. Nothing works. This place had become her own personal hell. The words on the pages seem to drift around unclear in her mind. Nothing but the fear she feels can be understood. But the worries of falling behind, of failing, of not being capable, keep her a willing prisoner in her hell. So exhausted by something that cannot be replenished by sleep, she staggers around, scared, and tired, and trapped. She is sitting in corners shaking uncontrollably.  She is trying not to vomit when she should be eating lunch. She is worried no one cares about her.  constantly, she worries this. She is clenching her fists into her hands so hard it hurts only to distract from the sickness. But it doesn’t work. She is starting to hug people when she feels sick, using their strength to prop herself up. But even that doesn’t work. She is desperate to feel better, tears running down her cheeks. She is so drained, so empty, so alone.

Grace is not very graceful. She used to smile; in fact many people loved her smile. She had people who loved her always around her. She surrounded herself with friends and family. Grace was strong and tall. Grace was confident. She used to laugh, she used to play, she used to be carefree. But now Grace is not okay.

“Why am I like this?” Grace is crying out to the heavens. “Because I am not strong enough? That’s what  I hear over and over– you are given as much as you can take. Well, I don’t believe that anymore. I can’t take this, I am not strong enough,” Grace seeks help through a pill; she is not strong enough. Peace can only be found from a prescription bottle now. She tries to relax, to let herself be content in the moment but yesterday and tomorrow keep nagging in her mind. A pill bottle is how her cries for help have been answered how they answered her cries for help. She doesn’t want a pill bottle. She hates that she needs it. She want to be normal. She want to not have to worry about the things she worries about. She hates how she is. She wants to be different. She doesn’t hate herself, she hates how she is.

Grace is not very graceful. She used to write, in fact she was good at it. Grace used to jump and run with her dog. Grace was a wonderful big sister and an amazing friend. Grace used to get great grades. Grace used to bounce when she walked. Grace used to paint. But now, Grace is not okay.

Grace is shutting the world out. Grace is hiding from the world. Grace is surrounding herself with others words instead of lovely people. Grace is trying to reach out but each time she stops herself. She is scared of how they see her, Grace is not confident. Grace is constantly uncomfortable. Grace is tumbling around trying to catch a hold. She is tripping as if wearing shoes too big for her; she is. Grace does not fit in her own skin. Grace is scared, hopeless, and lost.

Grace isn’t very graceful, but she is trying to find the rhythm again. Grace is not okay but she is trying to be. Grace is stumbling, tripping, tumbling, but she is putting her feet on the floor each morning trying to regain her grace. Grace used to be a dancer, her grace was in her movements. Grace is now a reader, her attempts to “dance” are swirling thoughts. Grace is not okay, but she will be.