waitress // lrh

27 // myself

tw - s*icidal thoughts, mentions

// cate //

Some days, I would wake up perfectly fine. Perfectly happy. Like nothing was wrong. But other days- other days were rough.

It was like I had to live it all over again. Every single second of that experience. And I couldn't take it anymore.

It always felt like there wasn't anyone I could talk to when I woke up like this. It used to just be... just be her, but now that wasn't an option anymore.

Sometimes I would lay there in my bed and pretend to be sick, or that I had a stomachache. But sometimes I could fake through it all and act as if everything was normal. The days that this happened grew rarer and rarer with passing time, but whenever they happened, I felt like I was right back at square one and there wasn't anything I could do about it.

No one would notice if I wasn't feeling well; they'd just bring me a glass of water and maybe some medicine with a quick "if it gets worse, call me and I can take you to the doctor".

The sickness they thought they were talking of never got worse. It never was there.

But the pain eating up inside of me that made me feel as if living any longer was unbearable grew worse every time it happened, and I had to lie there and pretend everything was all okay.

So when Luke shook me gently on the shoulder to signal he was getting up one Sunday morning, and I didn't react- he could tell something was wrong. He tried again, but I could only stare mindlessly at the wallpaper on the opposite side of the room.

"Catie," he said quietly, leaning over me. "You awake?"

I didn't move.

"Cate," Luke mumbled, craning his neck to look at my face as I was sleeping on my side. Once he saw that my eyes were open, his brow furrowed. "You alright?"

I just turned farther into the mattress, my knees tucking against my chest.

"You can talk to me, you know." His voice held a hint of amusement in it, but it was covered up with genuine worry.

I had had therapy for a while. A really long while after it happened. I thought I was going to be all better, but after the sessions stopped, I fell back into these pits of depression and self blame.

And it wasn't as if I could tell my mom. She tries, but she's so busy that all she would do is send me back to therapy, where I was so uncomfortable all of the time.

"Catelynn, I can tell that something's wrong. Please, just talk to me."

I shook my head into the pillow, my face hidden.

At least it was one sign of life from me. Luke sighed, rubbing a hand over my shoulder comfortingly. "Do you want breakfast?"

I contemplated, before nodding.

"Anything in particular?"

"C-can you ask Aimee for yogurt?" I mumbled.

"Mhm," he patted my arm gently, before getting up. "I'll be back in a couple of minutes, don't go anywhere."

I watched his figure start to leave the room, and I couldn't bring it in me to even move.

Aimee knew that the therapist had given me antidepressants. She had to pick me up one of the last few sessions instead of my mother, and we hadn't told her. I never talked to anyone about it. And when I first used them, since I still couldn't swallow pills, she had mixed it in a yogurt.