I Was a Teenaged (and then some) Zombie.

I wake up as Ellen, knowing that today is the day it ends. My mind will leave me, my senses will numb, and by night's fall, I will be nothing but a snarling, drooling, lurching monster. I will never again hear my mother's voice and her prayers will do me no good. I'll never feel the soft fur of the calves in the field or smell their sweet breath. Today is the day I will die. Figuratively, of course.

With each layer of makeup, I become more and more detached. With the white base, I become more sluggish, movements slow and labored. The grey around my eyes leaves me feeling as gaunt as I become, hollowing my cheeks and cracking my hands. Green at my temples bring the decay, my body falling apart. Teeth grime and cough syrup-tasting blood and my transformation is done. Close my eyes. Open up. I'm not myself anymore.

I'm out of the cab and amongst my people. Glazed eyes take in the tattered clothes and crumbling bodies and the chorus of undead moans welcomes my arrival. One of us! One of us! Gooble gobble! Gooble gobble! Us freaks belong together.

And maybe it's my mind getting too deep into a "roll", but I can't out shuffle the idea of being dead. I'm back with the demons of my adolescence, a time where the black-tar vomit of too many pain pills was a friend and the idea of my heart giving out under too much fear seemed like a wonderful escape. And how I'm not that girl anymore.

But everyone relapses (which is a term I hate, because it makes it sound like I willing became an anxious wreck again) or just has a bad day. The brain hiccups, the serotonin levels dip just a little and things get a messy again. These are the days where I immerse myself in the walking dead, the people who I once envied. And, in some ways, the people I once was.

If more people did this - surrendered the need for control for one moment and just acted silly - would their be as many muzzles pressed against temples? How much skin would remain intact and how many pills would go unswallowed? The power of pretend is unfathomable to me at times, but it's there.

This play time is far from some FDA approved treatment. But when I wipe away the makeup and see my face once more, it works. I survived. That's enough.