tug of war by ethan schlesinger enigma by drew brateen

enigma by drew braaten

TUG WAR of I remember when I used to play a lot of silly games as a kid: hopscotch, four square, kickball, tag, and my personal favorite, tug of war. For many years, my friends and I fought on the b a t t l e f i e l d we called the elementary school playground. These intense battles sometimes resulted in bumps, bruises, and blisters all over our scrawny bodies. The other kids’ scars eventually healed, but mine never did. I remember the f i r s t time when I fell to the ground, the tug of war rope dragging me all across the rough gravel. The other kids screaming at me: “GET UP! GET UP! YOU’RE GOING TO MAKE US LOSE THIS ROUND,” and I screamed back “I can’t!” I never could get up that day because I wasn’t strong enough. That day, life had enough of these silly little games, that the rope I was pulling wasn’t enough learning basic math, f i g u r i n g out how to walk in a single f i l e line, but discerning the difference between f i v e and ten turned to counting how many inches I’d have to grow to hit 5’10”; and learning to leave the hurt behind on the bus at the end of the day when things didn’t go my way. Now, I spend my time at school worrying if my growth is on track. My textbooks aren’t the only things that I carry with me in my backpack, but their weight tugs me down to the ground, showing me the strenght that I lack. It leaves me wondering, will I ever be as tall as the other kids, will my growth ever make a comeback? But, I AM NOT SMALL. I am not small. If only you could all see, I wear my heart on my sleeve, but its only there to cover up this pain. My mother always told me, “This isn’t forever, one day it will all go away.”

by ethan schlesinger

to s u f f i c e to the pressure I was feeling, that it needed more. Despite my best efforts to feed its hunger, it was never satisfied, never full. But I wa s always full. Full of anxiety meds, with names I could never pronounce: clonidine, sertraline, diazepam, f l u v o x a m i n e, I was never clean. This tug of war game, it seemed, was never ending. Just the right dosage would make the world come together; a spoonfull of clonidine helps the sugar go down, but don’t worry, It’s a normal side effect to feel under the weather: EVERY SINGLE DAY! The world would tug and pull at my heartstrings. Every psych visit would bring new things, instilling hope in my dreams at night, which used to be just nightmares. I remember when my biggest worries were getting to school on time and But how am I supposed to wait a long time for that one day to come? Three years ago, I didn’t even think I would make it to my eighteenth birthday. I remember when tug of war used to be a children’s game, but the one I’ve been playing my whole life isn’t the same. It’s full of blisters, bruises, and bumps, but I’m only 17, how would I know? There is only so much I can reap and sow, well that’s bullshit. Because of all I know is what I’ve been through and that’s it. And I’ve decided not to play this game of tug of war anymore, because progress is progress, and everything will work out for the best. Finally, as I stuff this f i r s t chapter of my life on the shelf, I am sure that I am completely and utterly myself.

11//Youth