The rain smelled like paprika and smoke, an Italian family’s kitchen, the day that I told my father I was scared. That was the same day, he took me to the asylum where they pumped me up like a balloon high on helium oh wait, I mean lithium. But. You probably don’t know what chemicals can do to a person that doesn’t need them. It drowns. Drowns like a girl beneath the surface of the water, pounding on it from underneath, like the painting banging against the glass frame to get out, blood bleeding from her wrists like watercolors. The rain smelled like yeast and old photographs, an Italian family’s dining room, the second day that I told my father I was scared. That was the same day that he took me home where they pumped me up like a balloon high on apologies and cries, oh wait, I mean lies. But. You probably don’t know what brokenness can do to a person that’s already broken. It drowns....