Author: Mouna Kacem

They think I’m depressed for refusing to leave this bed. I’m not. I put the tray on the table next to me. They want me to eat; I don’t need food. The birds chirp in the tree outside the window. If I stare out long enough, the voices around me will fade into background noise. They’ll stop eventually and leave. I won’t leave. I tuck a greasy strand of hair behind my ear. They say I’m depressed. I scoff. The only thing keeping me here is hope. Depression is when you have nothing to live for. That’s not me. The…