TWO SIDES OF THE SAME COIN

Rachel Farhoudi ’23

She wakes up to the feeling of soft gray sheets rubbing against her leg. She breathes in slowly, the kind of breath that pushes against the frame and spirals down.

Grasping the bedding with her fingers, she hoists herself up into consciousness. Her feet find the bedroom floor and her toes sink into the carpet.

It is like testing a cake to see if it’s ready, just the application of slight pressure. Finally she commits to the day and stretches out.

She peels away the blinds and sunlight streams in.

Warmth and light fill the room, illuminating a perfect life.

She opens her drawers to an array of neatly folded shirts. She reaches her hand in to create an acceptable ensemble for the day.

She samples colors and styles like she’s strategizing to create the strongest team. She has options, so she picks the best.

The mirror reflects her handy work: hair combed back, a warm jacket for the windy day, a minty fresh smile.

A picturesque Silicon Valley girl, too privileged to understand any different reality.

Now the spotlight shifts, a hole is punctured in the bubble. We travel outside, circling around skyscrapers, whirring down highways.

Our new subject contrasts that girl, he represents a darker underbelly. He woke up in a throbbing pain.

An uneven ground had scratched up his sides, leaving behind wounds that will soon crust over.

The tell tale sign of life is absent despite his open eyes.

Two empty craters have taken their place, windows into a broken soul. His stomach churns around itself, a body devoid of nourishment. The moribund figure lays lifeless against the walls of a tent. His breath is shallow.

He sucks in just enough air to avoid a slippery wheeze and an attack of coughs.

Dozens of camps line the road like colorful boxes. People stalk along the curb, begging for an inch of compassion from some passerby. A haze covers the crowd.

Groups rush by, averting their eyes to avoid choking on the fog of harsh truth.

Unfair thoughts spin into a web: “Better them than me.” and “They probably deserved it.”

The truth remains tucked away, squished under an unwillingness to care. The man on display was cheated by society. The chemical wiring in his brain has frayed and sparked out. He has changed yet remained the same, a cause and consequence scenario. His mind was never the perceived normal, so he turns to quick fixes that bring extreme highs and unbearable lows.

This village of tents is a disguise. Camouflaged is a breeding ground for mental illness. Society rejected this tribe and they are forced to look inward, yet the mind provides no solace. Within demons haunt.

Cracked, calloused hands try to push the thoughts out. Performative mania to spectators outside. He lives in agony. He knows nothing of peace of mind. He shuts his eyes again, hoping for death this time. Nobody cares, nobody ever has.