By the next morning, the rose-colored glasses of my joy have entirely worn off, and I find I’ve tumbled into a dark place mentally. It’s like a switch flipped in my brain overnight, and I can feel all the telltale signs of a slip into a depressive mood.
Typical. I have the best day of my life and can’t even be allowed to enjoy it for more than five minutes without the painful reminder that my brain is broken.
However, simply recognizing this for what it is does little to ease the symptoms. My head is underwater, and an elephant is standing on my chest, keeping me pinned down. I don’t have the energy or strength to shove it off, leaving me feeling numb and helpless.
It’s been a little while since the last time this happened to me, but the timing makes me feel ten times worse about myself. Like I’m somehow supposed to be better about regulating the chemistry of my brain, and clearly, I’ve gone and fucked that up as well.
Logically, I know that’s not true. It’s also unfair of me to think I’ve somehow brought this upon myself, but old habits die hard, I guess.
Luke is still sleeping beside me, oblivious to what’s happened, and I wonder what he’d think of me if he knew I’d spiraled out of control. Would he push me away again? Run for the hills rather than sign up to deal with the pile of damaged goods? I wouldn’t blame him. I don’t expect anyone to want to handle me when I’m like this. I’m no fun to be around, yet it’s a part of me that I’ll never fully be rid of. Sold as is, no refunds or exchanges.
I have learned to manage it better since I was a kid. At least now, while the merciless thoughts shout at me in a constant stream of negativity and self-deprecation, it’s easier to tune them out. They’re still there, but more like background noise instead of at the forefront, trying to take control. A therapist once told me it’s like I have my own personal Jiminy Cricket perched on my shoulder, only he’s evil and trying to bring me down, and I have to imagine trapping him in a glass jar that muffles the sound. I hate the analogy, but it’s stuck with me for life.
While I lie here in bed, I go back through the numerous therapy sessions I’ve had over the years, trying to remember what else they’ve taught me to do to cope when shit gets bad like this. Moving through the various strategies, positive affirmations, and soothing mantras, I try to pull myself out of it and go general with my thoughts. I don’t know if it helps.
At least I can be grateful that this happened on the last day of the trip. I don’t want anyone to freak out or fawn over me like they do when they see me like this. They mean well, but it rarely helps being dragged to the center of attention, getting poked and prodded while they come up with steps and action plans as if they can fix me. They can’t, but it only makes me feel worse forsucking the air out of the room, ruining what would otherwise be a good time.
I have years of practice under my belt pretending that everything’s fine, so no one should notice. Most of the time, they can’t see through the masks and pretense, and I can keep it up for a while. At least long enough to get me through necessary social interactions until I can crawl into bed and shut myself away from the world while I come out of it.
As I force myself out of bed and Luke’s comforting embrace, I slip into the character of a happy Ethan and go out into the world, acting like everything is normal. Nothing interesting to see here. If it seems like I’m staring into space, that’s because I’m tired and not because my brain is threatening to undo me. Move along.
I just need to get through the day, and then I’ll be free to deal with this as soon as I’m alone.
Everyone shares breakfast around one last fire, and I join in on the merriment as best I can. I force myself to smile and laugh with the jokes, actively participating in conversations so that not even Marcus can see what’s happened to me. I couldn’t handle having him look at me like he does when he knows I’m in a dark place without breaking down. Ireallydon’t want to break down.
The next challenge comes with the impending six-hour drive home. I don’t know how long I can keep up the façade when it’s just Luke and me alone the whole time. It’s easier to blend in and go invisible with a group when I’m not anyone’s sole focus, but one-on-one is always trickier. I’ll have to work harder to hide it.
After my truck is all packed up, and we’re ready to go, I start to make my way toward the driver’s seat when Luke suddenly comes up behind me and pulls me to a stop, pushing me up against the door somewhat forcefully. Not enough to hurt, but it startles me, nonetheless. He puts himself right in front of me, soI have nowhere to go, and I look at him with wide eyes, my heart leaping in my chest.
“What are you doing?” I snap with confusion, fearing how he’s leaning in closer, staring me down with intensity. We’re still out in the open, the rest of the group only a few feet away, where they can clearly see us if they look over. Is he out of his mind?
“Give me the keys,” he says firmly, his expression hard. He’s not trying to be cute, and the realization startles me.
“What?” I frown.
“Give me thekeys,” he repeats, holding his hand out for emphasis, and I look down at his outstretched fingers with confusion.
“Why?”
“Because I’m going to drive.”
“What? You don’t need to drive,” I scoff. “I can drive.”
Luke sighs and shakes his head, searching my face with a furrowed brow. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you right now, but I don’t think you should be driving. You seem…unfocused.”
My heart jolts, and I swallow hard, staring at Luke’s face while my brain erupts into chaos.No. That’s impossible. How could he know something’s wrong with me? I thought I had done a pretty good job of hiding it. It fooled everyone else, so how did he see through it?
Luke’s earnest, his face twisted in a mask of genuine concern. Somehow, seeing it makes me uncomfortable, and I want to crawl out of my skin and sink inside myself all at once. I’ve never been so self-conscious about having someone look at me, and I don’t know how to handle it.
“I’m fine,” I say feebly, heat creeping up the back of my neck. “You don’t need to worry about me.”
I try to move out of his space, but he puts an arm out to block me, looming over me with his hand on the roof of my truck. If I were in a better mood, I’d think this was hot as fuck.But I’m tense and worried that the others might see, so I try to push Luke away. Not meanly or forcefully, but with enough pressure against his chest to make himmoveso I can escape this unwanted scrutiny.
“Ethan,” Luke hisses, his voice low. He clasps my hand on his chest, holding it to him tightly instead, trapping me further.
He pins me in place with the intensity of his gaze, and suddenly, I’m frozen, staring up into the swirling azure ocean of his eyes. It’s almost like the color changes through various shades of blue in the sunlight as he searches my face, and I’m hypnotized by their radiance.
Luke moves the arm he blocked me with and places his hand on my chest in a mirror of how he's holding mine on his own. We’re standing at such an angle that no one else can see him do it, but suddenly, that doesn’t matter because I feel the pressure lessen like a lead weight has been lifted from my ribcage, and I gasp with an unencumbered breath, blinking with confusion. Wait.How did he do that?
