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I tuck my cell phone in my back pocket and grab my wallet off the desk. I leave my room and go down the stairs to the kitchen, where Mom stands in front of the stove making chocolate chip pancakes.
"Good morning, honey." Mom looks over her shoulder and winks.
I grab a cup of coffee and lean back against the counter, blowing air over the cup before I take a sip.
"Are you going to eat?" she asks.
"I'm not hungry."
"You should eat something with your meds." She plops a pancake on a plate and hands it to me.
"I took my meds, Mom. Don’t worry.”
We sit at the table and eat our breakfast silently until Mom speaks.
“Are you going back to work?”
I nod, swallowing a piece of pancake. “Yeah, I’m going to see if Dottie will let me come back.”
She nods, but I can see the concern etched on her face.
"What is it?" I sigh, setting my fork down.
"What is what?"
"Mom, come on,” I admonish. "Your facial expression changed when I mentioned Dottie's."
Without looking at me, she leans forward and wraps her hands around her cup. "I just don't think you should rush into going back to work. Your focus should be on your health and thinking about going to college."
I knew this would happen. "Mom, I'm not made of glass. Besides, working will help keep my mind busy. Hobbies can only do so much. You of all people should know that."
Mom lifts her head, and the sadness swirling inside her eyes tells me it was a low blow. When my parents divorced, Mom drowned herself in work and would pick up extra shifts and come home tired enough to instantly fall sleep. It was her way of coping, and not one complaint came from me because I, too, needed to keep my head busy. Many people find that having a quiet mind allows you to feel a sense of inner harmony, whereas for me, the softer it is, the more vulnerable my mind becomes, allowing unwanted guests to arrive. Staying busy keeps my mind working—focusing on anything other than believing my fears will come true.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"
"It's okay, sweetheart. You're right. Sometimes getting back into a routine can be beneficial for your wellbeing."
She gives me a genuine smile. "Get ready, and I can drive you."
"What about work?"
"I don't go in until this afternoon," she responds, taking a sip of her coffee.
"Thanks, Mom." I stand up, walk to the sink, rinse my plate, and place it in the dishwasher.
I lean down and place a kiss on her cheek. "I love you, Mom."
She pats the side of my face. "I love you too."
* * *
On the way to work, Mom doesn't say much, so I stare out the window and watch as we pass familiar buildings that haven't changed since I was born. We live in a small town where everyone knows everyone. It's a quiet, laid-back lifestyle in a close-knit community where people can rely on each other. Upon hearing about what occurred to me, the town expressed concern rather than judgment. This support gave me the confidence to return to Dottie's.
Once we pull onto the side of the road, I don't rush out of the car. The thoughts in my mind are spinning like a Tilt-O-Whirl. The more I forced myself to smile in the past and pretend everything was fine, the more exhausted I became. I started to dread being around people, asking how I was doing after Seth's death and, most likely, asking how I was doing after my suicide attempt. I felt guilty for not being more social, but I couldn't shake the overwhelming feeling of being around people. It was like I was constantly on edge, worrying about what to say or how to act, and it was exhausting. I thought I was ready for this next step, but I'm not. My heart beats erratically.
I can barely breathe.
Little white spots dance in my vision. It feels like my head is about to explode.
