We just have to find the right one for you.
You’ll be back to your normal self as soon as you adjust.
I’m beginning to think it’s all a lie. The tears won’t stop.
Major Depressive Disorder:A fancy title for Brain Sick.
Chemical imbalances and genetics. Circumstances and stressors. Triggers and coping mechanisms. My summer was spent in doctors' offices and therapy sessions while my classmates partied on the beach or in pools. They were getting drunk, hooking up and having fun while I vomited, screamed and sobbed until my parents were forced to sedate me. Even Xanax or Ambien didn’t stand a chance.
Because the agony isn’t only in my head— it’s in my heart too.
In my pocket, my pointer and thumb rhythmically rub the worn paper folded too many times— crumbled and flattened out again. The ink’s fading but the pain isn’t. It’s burrowed too deep.
I can’t say his name.
I can’t look at photos.
I can’t reread his note.
But I can’t let it go either.
“Remy.”
Her voice is waterlogged. I lift my tired eyes.
Andrea’s mournful expression pours salt in my unseen wounds.
This monstrous illness has cost me more than the boy I’m unfortunately still madly in love with. It’s cost me my friends, my teachers, my teammates, even my fucking parents. Everyone tiptoes around me like I’ll shatter into billions of glass shards at any moment. And they’re right. I never know when a wave will swallow me whole. I can’t trust a good mood to last. I can’t smile without expecting a crash. I’m a zombie banging on the bars of his cage, screaming to be set free but no one can hear me.
A hand gently passes me the spoon.
I blink.
Please save me from this hell.
“You’re soup’s getting cold,” Andrea murmurs.
I blink again.
Do you not see me behind this blank mask?
She bites her quivering lower lip, dropping her gaze.
Rewind time. I can’t do this anymore.
“Babe, you gotta eat something.”
I want to be held. I want Win.
I want Win so fucking bad.
The spoon falls again.
I’m drowning.
Floating outside myself, I watch as my body rises, arm swiping across the table, the bowl crashing to the floor. Gasps and shouts echo through the cafeteria. They’re whispering under their breaths, calling me names I vaguely register, like,psycho, crazy, mental, headcase, delusional, crybaby, pathetic—it goes on and on.
Tears bubble over. I’m running through a wind tunnel, faces elongating and streaking. Disfigured classmates loom over me, laughing and shouting.
