Savannah Watson

Author’s Note: Content warning – this piece deals with the topic of depression, self-harm, and suicide. Reader’s discretion.

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How many times have the words ‘I’m fine’ left my lips when I was anything but? How many times did I say ‘I’m okay’ while I was slowly dying inside?

I was fine, that’s why I wore slits on my wrists like bracelets. I was okay, that’s why I was thinking of the ways out.

Why was I so afraid of the truth, of saying four simple words out loud?

I am not okay.

Was I scared of admitting that I was drowning, or was I afraid that nobody would care that I was?

I guess I thought that at least if I drowned alone and in silence, I couldn’t be disappointed if no one came to my rescue. If I said I was fine enough times, maybe I would be.

I’m fine.

I’m fine.

I’m

not

fi.

.

.

.

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