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Later in the day when I’m starving, I lie in bed, debating whether getting out of bed is worth satisfying my hunger. Just when I’ve decided that no, it isn’t worth it, there’s a knock on my door. Brittany pokes her head
into the room.
“Say please.”
I roll over. Even though I’m not sure what I’m saying please for, there’s no fight left in me at this point. “Please.” She steps into the room with a plate of food in one hand and a can of Sun Drop in the other. The words are out of my mouth before I can think twice about it. “I love you.”
“Better. You’re a piece of work.” She hands the plate to me and sets the drink on the nightstand. She turns and heads to the door. “I’ll leave you alone now,” she says over her shoulder.
Guilt swallows me whole. She’s being nice, sweet, and doing as I’ve asked and I feel like a piece of shit. Why couldn’t she have just left?
April chugs along without many changes for us. It’s the Friday before finals start, and Brittany is staying with me one last time. Then, I’m making her park herself at campus to prepare for her finals. She hasn’t at all because she’s stopped caring, which is scary as hell. She doesn’t need to have worked hard and stressed so much to blow her finals off.
When not worried about her, I’m thinking about my job. Work has been giving me a ridiculous amount of stress and anxiety. Mr. Hanifin seems to be watching me more closely, as if I’m going to make a mistake in the office. Conversation is still stopping when I enter the break room from where they are yet again talking about what happened. These people need to get a life. The only good thing is that I haven’t seen Dustin. I don’t think he’s come in to see anyone, but as long as he doesn’t come see me, I’ll be fine.
However, that doesn’t mean I don’t worry about what would happen if he did come in. There are too many annoying unknowns and I hate it. I come into work every day and instead of looking forward to it, I wish I was back home with Lily and Brittany. The passing of time both helps and makes it worse because I’m still wondering when it’ll get better or when it’ll happen.
We continue to fall further into the seemingly bottomless pit of depression. I can’t even remember the last time we had a good, actual conversation that had substance. Something other than how are you doing today or empty reassurances. It’s hard to care and be sure about those reassurances when the only change we’re seeing is us not getting better.
I also haven’t been able to stop thinking about whether or not we’re honestly good for one another. I was so sure when her father asked me if I would affect his daughter’s mental health due to my own that no, I wouldn’t. Did I unknowingly lie? When she has texted me that her day has been okay, she comes over to my house and watches me like I watch her. Seeing the signs of our anxiety, seeing the tired, defeated eyes, and maybe we’re subconsciously feeding off of each other’s negativity, growing our own.
Would she be able to maintain and maybe even get better if she wasn’t around me? If she wasn’t listening to my complaints and watching me spiral further and further? God, I love her so much and to think that my current bad state might fuel hers is too much to bear. What started as occasionally wondering about it has nearly turned into an obsession.
“Babe, I can hear you thinking over here,” Brittany says, and I turn my head to look at where she lies next to me in bed. “Stop it. It’s keeping me from falling asleep.”
“Sorry.”
“What’re you thinking about anyway?”
“Nothing important.”
The light from the TV allows me to see her eyes narrow at me. She can be pissed if she wants about me not sharing. I don’t want to tell her what I’m thinking. For one, I know it won’t make her happy, and why would I add my doubts to what we’re already dealing with? She can’t handle much more. Hell, neither can I. Honestly, I’m amazed at how she’s fighting with this quiet strength. It makes me feel weak that I keep thinking about giving in.
I’m not strong right now. How can I be a source of strength and comfort for her anyway? I can’t be. It doesn’t seem possible. The few times I’ve been this bad off, I did give in. Maybe it’s my current warped thinking in this state of mind, but I did eventually get better after I gave in. You have nowhere to go but up once you hit rock bottom, right? But I haven’t gotten there yet by the determination to hold on a little longer for Brittany.
I don’t know how much longer I can.
It’s so tempting to give in. Let it take over, run its course, and hope it eventually leaves or lightens for me to start working on building myself up again. Like acid, it eats away at me to do just that while berating myself because I’d for sure be in no shape to be around Brittany.
A whisper of a thought that I haven’t had since college enters my mind.
Do it. End your life. The pain will go away for you and you’ll stop hurting Brittany and making her worse.
The ways to make it happen start filtering through my mind. It’s nearly impossible to stop thinking about it now. Fucking hell. How can I be thinking about suicide while looking at this beautiful girl who I love so much? An entire new set of problems is now on my plate. I probably should’ve told her my full history by now. I probably should’ve told her what happened to my mom already. I haven’t told my dad about my issues because my mom suffered from depression and she killed herself because of it. Dad would think the same thing would happen to me. I can’t put that kind of burden on his shoulders. That’s what telling Brittany would be like, too. It would be a burden, and she doesn’t need that right now. Then again, I probably should be doing everything differently because I’m convinced I’m doing it all wrong.
Her anger begins to fade into worry. Her hand moves above the sheets to grasp her wrist. “You’d tell me if it was something serious, right?”
“Of course,” I lie.
I hate finals week. I keep trying to remind myself that this is my last finals week for the rest of my life, but it doesn’t make me feel better. I wake up from about two to eight hours of sleep depending on when I go to bed, and if I went to bed at a time that would allow me to take my sleeping pill or not. A full-blown panic attack starts five seconds later where I can’t breathe, can’t control my heart rate, and puke up whatever I managed to eat the day before.
Leaving each exam, I feel like I failed because numerous times throughout, my mind would blank or I’d have a panic attack, and I can barely remember what I wrote down, much less whether it’s right or not. Then, I have to study and cram for the next one. I’m so utterly exhausted. When this is all said and over with, I plan on moving in with Rebecca and spending a month in bed.
When that last final is over, I keep waiting to feel some happiness or relief or something other than a complete loss and indifference. Maybe I’ve lost the ability to feel anything positive. I should be ecstatic that I’m done with college, that Rebecca and I will be moving in together off campus, that my boyfriend has sent me two encouraging texts before and after each exam, but I feel nothing good.
I’m empty.
I’m scared. What if I can’t hold down a job? What if I hate the job I’ll hopefully get and worked and suffered for four years for a degree to get me that job? What if I have to move back home? What if I fail at adulthood?
