Independence Day- By Megan Lukies

I haven't taken a single breath since July fourth. I had tears in my eyes, you know, when I stood up for the pledge. I wanted to love my country, my people. Less than an hour later, I was called slurs in the parking lot of the beach for dying my hair blue.

I question why things are not the way I choose to see them. I see people through the lens of their own projections. I inhale everything they brag about, their rose-coloured words. I choose to believe that they are inherently good, and will continue to be good. Eventually, I see the pain that they put me through. I try to push it down, gulp it down far enough that I will never hold it against them. Inevitably, as time goes on, I stop breathing. There is too much pressure in my lungs, too much feigned indifference stuck in my oesophagus.

I hold resentment in my throat. By August, it was so hard to breathe that I couldn’t eat, I choked on every word. I spent November in the hospital. They told me it was psychosomatic and the beliefs I had held were never real. I came out with a feeding tube and an empty throat, pink hair and not one lesson learned. December was spent with glasses that were rosy like my hair, and I was sick again by the new year.