On a rainy Thursday morning, Jayde brushed her teeth while contemplating the meaning of her existence. She’d awoken at the same time she always did, right before the sun rose. She had checked off the day on her calendar and made her way to the bathroom.
On the bathroom door hung a poster that she knew all too well, after years of studying it in some sort of odd contemplation. The poster read “The mystery of human existence lies in not just staying alive, but in finding something to live for -Fyodor Dostoevsky”. And, not for the first time, she wondered what she had to live for. She had recently accepted that the reason she, the horribly awkward fourteen year old that she was, served no purpose other than to eventually decompose in a graveyard and to have her remains eaten by maggots.
Jayde was not an easy person to be around. She constantly worried, bailed on the few friends she had, hid in bathrooms, and asked irrelevant questions. She was known by most people, but she wasn’t popular. Most people stayed away from her in fear that whatever she had was contagious.
The problem was, Jayde understood them. She understood that they hated her. She hated herself. She hated the disgusting creature she’d become. She hated the way her brain broke down every little word she would hear. She hated the way she had to wash her hands five times before eating to keep the long-gone germs off her hands. She hated the way her thoughts seemed out of control, the way her rational thoughts were only light splashes against the rough tides of her anxiety.
Jayde pulled herself out of the ocean of the thoughts. She looked in the mirror. Green toothpaste foamed out of her mouth, and her electric toothbrush whirred, spinning as fast as her thoughts.