China Doll

“My little china doll,” she whispers as she drifts to sleep. Mom looks at me and reaches for my hand.

“I think she’s going to sleep for a while,” Lilith says,”Morgan, you should get some rest. Patrick and I can watch her for a while.”

Mom nods, “Come on,” she says quietly as she moves her hand to my shoulder, “Let’s go home.”

When we get to the house, I notice a duffle bag sitting in the living room.

“Aunt Lily will be staying here while mima is in the hospital.” Mom explains as she walks to the kitchen with the take out we ordered on the way home.

“What about Uncle Patrick?” I call back as I set my backpack near the door.

“He’s staying at a hotel near the hospital.” Dad says as he closes the door behind us.

“Stephen,” Mom calls from the other room, “Do you want chicken chow mein or pork fried rice?”

“Chow mein,” my father answers as he heads to the kitchen.

“Amber?” I hear mom in the distance as I stand transfixed by Aunt Lily’s duffle bag. It’s frayed and faded. I wonder were the bag has been.


“Fried Rice.”

After dinner, I go to my room and get ready for bed. The sun is just starting to set, but I have had enough of this day. In fact, I have had enough of these days in general. The endless march of survival day in and day out. What was the damn point? In the end, I would grow up like mom, or Uncle Patrick, or Aunt Lily. Never satisfied, never healthy, never reaching my destination. I was starting to feel that irrational anger again. There’s only one way to handle this. I swallow three pills and crawl under the covers. I just want to hide. I just want to be alone until this feeling goes away. Will this feeling ever go away? I welcome the oblivion of sleep as the medication slowly pulls me under.


* * *

If you or someone you know is depressed, despairing, going through a hard time, or just needs to talk, visit Lifeline Crisis Chat or call 1-800-273 TALK (8255).

You’re not alone . . . and you’re not crazy.

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