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“What am I going to do out here? What am I going to do with the rest of my life? I don’t have a plan.” I slide my thumb along the scar on my left forearm. Some people bite their nails when they’re anxious. Some tap their feet. I rub the physical reminder of the lowest moment in my life.
“Stop touching your scar. And don’t tell me you’re not, because I know you are.” Drew clicks his tongue. “You’re not supposed to focus on the past, remember? Look forward. Never back, always forward.”
“Looking forward is what worries me. I have anxiety, remember?”
“You’ll figure it out. You need to give yourself some time. You just got out this morning, for Christ’s sake. You’re not going to have all the answers on day one, so tell your anxiety to fuck right off.”
If only it were that simple. I practice my deep breathing for a few seconds and try to slow my racing mind.
Focus on what you can control.
“What’s on your to-do list? I know you made one.”
I put Drew on speaker, and tap on my notes app. “I need to unpack, obviously, and I should stock up the fridge, so I’ll need to go grocery shopping.”
“Fuck that boring shit. Order a pizza and worry about substantial food tomorrow. You’ve been living on this organic free-range kumbaya chicken over here. Let yourself indulge on your first night out. Celebrate.”
Celebrate what?The fact that I had to be deemed stable enough to live among normal people again? Or the fact that my mother disowned me because she took my suicide attempt as a personal attack against her? Or how about the fact that my schizophrenic friend who has limited phone privileges managed to check in on me before my own brother did?
Drew’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “Hey, stay out of your head. You’re going to be okay, Nix. It’s just going to take some time to adjust.”
“Thanks for calling.” A pang of sadness pricks my heart. “I miss you already.”
“Good, you better. I used my one call for you, which means I can’t call the phone sex hotline later.”
“Eww. Please don’t tell me you actually do that.”
“I wouldn’t have to if you were game. Come on, Nix. Talk dirty to me.”
I throw my head back and laugh. “Not a chance in hell.”
“Prude. I’ll call you tomorrow to check in. Have a slice of pizza for me.”
As soon as I end the call, I search for a nearby pizzeria and order a large pie.
While I wait, I log onto Facebook. Clearview had a strict policy against social media, so it’s been sixteen months since I’ve connected to the internet world. I used to be into scrolling through my feed. There’s something oddly comforting in seeing that everyone else’s lives turned out to be just as mediocre and meaningless as mine.
Notifications flood my account, all from people I haven’t seen or spoken to since high school nearly ten years ago:
Nicole Paisley: You should’ve died.
Roger Clementine: There’s always next time.
Jessica Armando: Selfish bitch.
Billy Jenkins: Her poor family.
Tarryn Desai: Loser couldn’t even kill herself the right way.
Jared Martino: The world would be better off without people like you.
Each comment pierces my heart like a bullet. I know I should stop reading them, but I can’t bring myself to look away. These are people I grew up with. People I sat next to in history class. People I worked on science projects with. These aren’t sad internet trolls living in dark basements with nothing better to do. They’re regular people with jobs and spouses and children.
Andthisis the way regular people view depression and suicide.
I don’t know why I’m shocked. I was raised by someone just like this. Humans tend to shun and judge whatever they don’t understand. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less.
“Insensitive assholes.” I deactivate my account and delete the rest of my social media apps. I survived without it at Clearview, and the world really is more peaceful when you don’t have instant access to everyone’s thoughts and opinions.
