Emily #freementalillness #literasia

t w e n t y t w o

Perhaps it wouldn't hurt so much for Emily if she had never known what a real family was supposed to be like. But she had. When she was little, her parents had taken her to the park, the movies, out for ice cream, and made time for her in their lives. But it all went away.

It started out in slow progression, when the work started piling up at their jobs and they started getting snappy whenever Emily would say something and break the work-induced silence, then telling Emily that they were busy; they didn't have time to play with her.

So she learned to sit silently and stop speaking and moving and resigned herself to a corner that she never left. And when the work got hard and the nights long and someone had too much to drink— she would barricade herself in her room and hope that they forgot she was there. Most nights, they did, and she clenched her eyelids shut so she wouldn't cry and tried not to think about every single way there was to end the pain.

She used to have friends. People to eat lunch with and discuss classes and shows to and share stories with. But they never understood. They didn't comprehend.

Their lives weren't anything close to her's. So she stopped talking to them about it. And they broke away. It was inevitable.

Emily furiously whisks an egg, only to have the contents splatter out of her bowl. Chef scolds her for what must be the fortieth time. She is no longer in a refuge, for Samantha is Chef's new favorite. After going to Gershow, all Chef could do was brag about her while not so discreetly sipping wine from a water bottle.

She sees Walter glance at her hesitantly from the corner of her eye, as if he is about to help her. But he then decides against it, silently staring down at his food.

That's just the way it is now. Emily chose this. So why is she so unhappy?