“Why am I like this?” Rachel looks at themself in the mirror. They have thick eyebrows, bangs, and wavy hair past their shoulders, rendered in soft blues. They are touching their cheeks with their hands as tears and makeup stream down their face. They look pained, brows furrowed, eyes wide, frowning. “I wander the hallways of my mind.” Rachel is walking through a threshold into a hallway with blue and white checkered tiles and a rounded ceiling. There are potted plants and artworks decorating the space. Tears are still streaming down their face. “Searching for the source of my tears.” A dark, damp spot on the ceiling is dripping large amounts of water, splashing on the floor. Rachel looks up with surprise to see it. They ascend an ornate staircase, wearing an evening gown. Rachel peers through a creaking door to see an overflowing bathtub. They approach it. They dive into an ocean through the tub, swimming down to coral and anemones and eels on the sea floor. “As if pain caused by memories works differently than pain caused by family, or hormones, or alcohol, or the news.” Rachel looks over a dark chasm in the ocean floor and dives down, reaching their hand through it to get to something unseen, brows furrowed. There is litter scattered in the underwater landscape: an alcohol bottle, a cracked phone, a pill bottle, along with shells and human bones. Rachel’s hand reaches through a small hole and brushes something bright; they smile. “But it hasn’t worked out yet.” They tug to get their hand out and struggle, now frowning and panicked. “Maybe I need to let it go” They grab onto something like a clump of hair, let it go, and retract their hand through the hole. They pop open the bathtub drain stopper. “And deal with what’s right in front of me.” They look off in the distance, hair slicked back from the water, a calm expression on their face. Their hands touch their hair on the back of their head.
“Why am I like this?” Rachel looks at themself in the mirror. They have thick eyebrows, bangs, and wavy hair past their shoulders, rendered in soft blues. They are touching their cheeks with their hands as tears and makeup stream down their face. They look pained, brows furrowed, eyes wide, frowning. “I wander the hallways of my mind.” Rachel is walking through a threshold into a hallway with blue and white checkered tiles and a rounded ceiling. There are potted plants and artworks decorating the space. Tears are still streaming down their face. “Searching for the source of my tears.” A dark, damp spot on the ceiling is dripping large amounts of water, splashing on the floor. Rachel looks up with surprise to see it. They ascend an ornate staircase, wearing an evening gown. Rachel peers through a creaking door to see an overflowing bathtub. They approach it. They dive into an ocean through the tub, swimming down to coral and anemones and eels on the sea floor. “As if pain caused by memories works differently than pain caused by family, or hormones, or alcohol, or the news.” Rachel looks over a dark chasm in the ocean floor and dives down, reaching their hand through it to get to something unseen, brows furrowed. There is litter scattered in the underwater landscape: an alcohol bottle, a cracked phone, a pill bottle, along with shells and human bones. Rachel’s hand reaches through a small hole and brushes something bright; they smile. “But it hasn’t worked out yet.” They tug to get their hand out and struggle, now frowning and panicked. “Maybe I need to let it go” They grab onto something like a clump of hair, let it go, and retract their hand through the hole. They pop open the bathtub drain stopper. “And deal with what’s right in front of me.” They look off in the distance, hair slicked back from the water, a calm expression on their face. Their hands touch their hair on the back of their head.

Author: Christa Clark
Christa Clark is an emerging illustrator and comic artist based in Southern Ontario, Canada. She resides with her husband, two children, and a very cute axolotl. Christa is currently honing her craft in the Year-Long Program at the Sequential Artists' Workshop (SAW). Follow on Instagram @christacclark, and her website below:
Website: http://www.christaclark.ca
Author: Dana Cox
Dana Cox is a comic artist and illustrator from Los Angeles, California. She makes comics primarily about her own life, but also sometimes about grocery stores. Her comic, "Fullerton" was nominated for best comic zine of 2023 by Broken Pencil Magazine. She finds existence perplexing, startling, and often upsetting. If you go for a walk together, she’s probably gonna point out a dog, a bird, or a plant and make you look at it.
Author: Martha Kuhlman
Martha Kuhlman is Professor of Comparative Literature in the Department of History, Literature, and Art at Bryant University where she teaches courses on the graphic novel, Central European literature, and Creativity. She coedited The Comics of Chris Ware: Drawing is a Way of Thinking with the University Press of Mississippi (2010) with Dave Ball, and Comics of the New Europe (2020) with Leuven University Press, and her articles have appeared in The Journal of Popular Culture, European Comic Art, and The Comparatist. In addition to her academic publications, she reviews contemporary graphic narratives, translates comics from Czech to English, and is currently enrolled in the Sequential Arts Workshop, an international online school for making comics.
Website: https://bryant.academia.edu/MarthaKuhlman
Tags: Graphic Medicine, non-fiction