Lucky wasn’t how I was feeling. Lost. Hopeless. Unmotivated. Numb. Those were better adjectives.
None of the advice I’d found online was useful.
Spend time with friends.Hard pass. It was bad enough that Chester had been dragged into this because of me—I wasn’t letting the same fate befall the others.
I hadn’t seen Bryce, Mac, or Cole in months now. Thanks to the busy holiday season, I’d been able to get away with it to a certain extent.
Now that it was over, my friends were determined to get back into my life. I’d hidden in the storage cooler no less than three times now, letting Chester make excuses to my friends as to why I couldn’t see them.
They probably hated me, but it was better than them being dead because of me.
That wasn’t the only piece of mental health advice I’d found. There were others, all equally useless.
Get outside in the fresh air.Bit hard to do that when I was terrified I was going to be jumped and dragged back to the Clarkson lands.
Talk to someone.That would require me to converse with someone other than Chester. Even with him, I was finding it difficult. To be completely honest, the only thing that forced me into work was the knowledge that I needed my job. Without it, I’d lose my flat. My independence. My security.
That was a far scarier thought than anything the depression was putting me through.
Before Clyde’s death, I’d been answering my friends’ messages and calls. Since then…not so much. I didn’t want them having any connection with me. Not when it could be exploited by the wrong people.
Go on medication.Well, that one we could definitely blame on the childhood trauma. Guess who didn’t need medication because they were immortal? And, as a result, guess who was made to feel weaker whenever he needed antibiotics?
Those rare occasions had been the only times I ever left the clan lands. The tiny glimpses I’d get of human life through the car window gave me hope that there was a better world out there. A place where I wouldn’t be sneered at. Where my failings wouldn’t be held up for everyone to judge.
I’d never understood why Clyde bothered taking me to the doctors’. He’d bitch the entire time and make sure I knew exactly how inconvenient my illness was for him. I’d always thought it strange that he didn’t just let me die. Wouldn’t that have been easier for him?
Maybe he just loved having an easy target around. Someone he could release his tension on without the fear of them biting back. Me being able to do menial chores was likely another reason.
It wasn’t love or care.
I guessed I should be grateful he actually took me to the doctors for the medicine I needed. It was the only kind I ever got. Calpol was something I only learned about as an adult. Pain was meant to be hidden and never mentioned.
After all, none of the other members of the clan would complain about a sprained wrist or a black eye. Why should I?
I did once point out that they didn’t complain because the injury never lasted long enough for them to feel it.
The second black eye I got after that stopped me ever bringing it up again.
Anyway, my point was that medication wasn’t something my brain would let me do unless I was at death’s door. The depression was making it near impossible to function, but I wasn’t there.
It was a shame, really. I’d often wondered what my life would be like on ADHD medication. There were so many fantastic options out there now.Maybe one day I’d get past it. When this fucking nightmare was over and I could think about my future without choking on fear.
Assuming I lived long enough tohavea future.
Look, I was aware that I was being dramatic. The likelihood of the Clarksons still being after me following Clyde’s death was slim. The probability of them successfully taking me back to their lands was even slimmer given I had a wolf guarding me at all times.
Really, there was nothing to stop me going for a walk. I knew I was as safe outside as I was in my flat.There was also nothing stopping me answering my phone when Bryce FaceTimed or replying to one of Mac’s many messages. I could even game online with Cole, just as I used to before all of this happened.
I could even talk to someone. Logan, Finn, and Chester had all made it clear that they were there to listen. That they were worried about me. That they’d do whatever it took to support me through this.
But I just couldn’t do it. Any of it. It didn’t matter if the barriers could be removed, my depression wouldn’t let me shift them even an inch.
There was one person I suspected I’d be able to open up to. One who’d listened to me at a time when no one else had. Who’d let me prattle on about whatever topic held my brain in its grip without an ounce of judgement.
Who’d walked out of my flat pissed off at me, and hadn’t shown his face again since.
Which was a good thing. I reminded myself of this every day. And again every night as I fucked myself with my biggest dildo and pretended it was him.
