Monday Afternoons

Once a week,
I think about popping my arm
out of socket, stretching
and pulling until my
arm dislocates, completely
falls off my body
at the shoulder—and it never
hurts, but it feels like I’ve finally
completed the one task
I’ve been aiming for all my life—
like my arm shouldn’t be a part
of me anyway, since my brain
so frequently forces me to view
myself moving from above,
so why shouldn’t my body
disconnect from itself, too,
and give me several smaller
bodies to concentrate on—
maybe I could ground myself
in searching for myself,
maybe I could find myself
by tearing myself apart

Notes for Playing the Role of Formerly-Suicidal

Director: There is no costume for this part. Wear whatever you’re comfortable in, you know? But not too comfortable. If you’re too comfortable, you don’t look Formerly-Suicidal anymore. If you aren’t comfortable at all, people think you’re trying too hard to remind them you’re now only Formerly-Suicidal.

You:

Director: So your speech, your dialect, your voice. You need to sound dead, but not too dead, you know? You didn’t actually die. But if you show some emotion then you were never suicidal in the first place, and if you show no emotion at all then you’re still just Suicidal, not Formerly-Suicidal. We need that sweet spot.

You:

Director: Honestly, don’t worry about lines. Twitter meme’d up that very-real experience you have with memory loss, right? The whole, “Why does no one talk about depression-induced memory loss?! Oh wait, we do, but you all forget!” Classic. So yeah, just roll with that. Say what feels right. The audience won’t expect you to know all your lines, anyway. You’re going through some tough shit, you know? You aren’t allowed to have it all together. The audience wouldn’t recognize you anymore.

You:

Director: Oh, and don’t forget—you’re the only person on stage who can’t make death or suicide jokes. When someone else does, it’s funny, and this is a comedy after all, you know? But when you do it, it’s depressing and real. You can’t bring down the mood of the whole play. And you will, if you remind us about death all the time.

You:

Director: But remember to balance things out—you do need to constantly remind the audience that you’re the one playing Formerly-Suicidal, you know? The Formerly-Suicidal are always talking about their role. If no one else makes things about death, then they find a way to bring it up themselves. Don’t let us forget. Don’t let yourself forget. You’ll never forget.

You: I think I’d like to play a different role.

Director: No, the role of Now-Recovered-Normal-Girl does not exist in this play. You are always either Suicidal or Formerly-Suicidal. The audience doesn’t see you recover. You never recover, you know?

You:

Director: Okay, so any questions?

Jade Driscoll is currently pursuing her Master’s degree in Creative Writing from Central Michigan University. When she’s not writing, Jade enjoys devouring books of almost any genre, listening to music, and going to concerts. Her poetry and short fiction have previously appeared in Collision Literary Magazine, Plainsongs, Remington Review, and others.