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Her laugh is beautiful. I want to laugh with her, have fun, but I want to yell at her because she pisses me off with her pushing.
In the same breath that I would want to take her out on a date, I don’t want to leave my house and put forth the effort.
This is exhausting. Half of my cereal is still in the bowl when I set it down on the table, no longer hungry. It’s my lucky day, because Olivia’s phone rings. The man is here to fix her heat. She gives me a big smile.
“I gotta go. Thanks for breakfast and for letting me sleep over, Corey.”
She’s thanking me again? While I’ve been sitting here wishing she was gone already? I nod because my voice doesn’t want to work. It would take too much energy, especially when I don’t feel like she should be so damn grateful.
Olivia leans over and kisses my cheek so tenderly, like I might dissolve with her touch. Then she grabs her bag, drops her bowl off in the kitchen, and leaves without another word. That’s when I know so deeply in my very soul that Olivia will destroy me one way or another. I also know she’ll be able to put me back together, and if she can’t, then I would be fucked anyway.
An hour later, I catch myself glancing to the kitchen cabinets where my alcohol is stored. I’m feeling on edge, and I know alcohol would help soothe me. Sighing, I stand and walk into the kitchen, stopping when I’ve reached the appropriate cabinet. When I open the door and see the bottles, my stomach churns. The memory of my little episode is too vivid. Alcohol has never solved my problems, only numbed them for a little while. It’s time to get rid of the habit once and for all. I don’t need the temptation for the tempo
rary distraction it provides.
Grabbing a few bottles, I drop them into the trashcan. It doesn’t make me feel better, but I don’t feel worse ether. There is a bit of relief, because now I don’t have to worry about a repeat experience. I go ahead and remove the bag from the container and walk outside to the dumpster, tossing it in. There, it’s done and gone.
When I return to my apartment, my energy leaves me. What am I supposed to do now?
FOR TWO DAYS, I don’t step outside into the sunlight. The only texts I answer are from my siblings because I’m sick and tired of them worrying about me. They won’t have to do that anymore.
My world has stopped turning, and no matter how hard I push it, no matter how much I try, I can’t get it to turn again. My entire body is imprinted in my mattress because I can’t get up. When Olivia pushes, shit happens. I push and…
Nothing.
Same shit, different day.
That fits perfectly.
I’m so utterly exhausted from doing absolutely nothing but being lost in the hell of my mind, like it was so perfectly constructed that I can’t escape. How is this feeling even possible? It’s driving me crazy.
And if I get the urge to break down in tears one more time, I may scream.
If I could even find the energy for it.
Olivia has only texted me twice, both times yesterday. In the last one, she promised she wouldn’t push if I would just reply. I didn’t, and haven’t heard from her since. Has she given up on me already? Might as well. She said herself that she can’t help someone who doesn’t want to be helped.
If I don’t want her to give up, then I need to be thinking about this help thing.
I’ve been staring at my ceiling for hours while my bed molds to my body. Hours of doing nothing but trailing my gaze over the grooves and cracks above me. This is unbearable. Day after day of carrying a heavy and invisible load on my shoulders weighs me down more and more. I want it to stop. I can’t take it anymore, but I don’t know what I can do to change it. My release, my escape, my paradise, my sunshine in the vast darkness I call my life, I found those things in football before. But now, when all I have is myself, I can’t handle it.
Things are looking darker and murky and it’s swallowing me whole. How do I control it? Olivia says it’s possible.
Olivia.
Everything clicks into place.
I want help.
I need help.
That’s what everyone has been telling me, but especially her, and she gets it more than anyone else I know. The urge to say those words aloud overwhelms me. I need to tell her. Olivia can help.
Before I change my mind, I walk out of my apartment and over to hers. The moment I lift my closed fist to knock, what I’m about to do hits me like a tidal wave.
No.
I can’t.
