Low on Serotonin

Broken Free

It's a shackle sweetheart.
Your thoughts.
Adamantine. Made to last.

Fetter yourself with it and sleep.
Wake up. Feel the helplessness.
Have some coffee.
And you'll realize, all along it was better not to sleep.

You could've stayed fettered. Suffered.
Reached a point. Felt the shackle unbinding.
Broken free. Released.
And yes. Breathed.

                                                                                                                    -J

I put the pen between the pages and close the notebook. I feel the not so chilly breeze messing my hair as I lie down on the grass. I can almost smell the petrichor emanating from the grass as I  shut my eyes and try to take it all in. It isn't a very calm day. My heart has been racing since morning when Mrs. Garcia lashed out at me for not completing the assignment on time. Trust me, this thesis means the world to me but I can't really stop my illness from ruining it all, can I? I understand the power of now though. I take a deep breath as he always says and his distinctive features flash before my eyes.

"Jenna?"

My lids respond to the sound of my name from a voice that has come to be so close to my soul and I get up instantly to find him with his brows furrowed. What is he doing here?

"Oh. Hey. What are you doing here?"

He throws his bag on the grass, takes my hand with a smile and lies down with me. 

"It's kind of humid today no?"

"I know right? I always expect the rain to bring something beautiful and chilly with it. It disappointed me today."

"Ahahaha. Just like anything else, rains aren't always the best Jen."

Just like he isn't always the best? Where was he for this long? It's been a week now since we last went out and he has been on and off lately. It feels like he has been avoiding. Not exactly avoiding. It feels like he doesn't want to come to terms with what we have. He always seems to be swamped with work or at least that's what he always says. I haven't exactly come up with plans to meet him either but that doesn't mean I haven't given hints. 

His ons have been beyond this world though. He calls every night to see if I took my meds and to tell me all about his day at work. And I listen intently. He cracks up whenever I mention that his stubble gets me all tingly every time I kiss him on the cheeks. He even made me talk to Archie's therapist. The fact that Dr. Malcolm has been avoiding me pinches him more than it does me.

"What are you thinking Jen?" He snaps his fingers in front of my eyes.

"Oh no. No. Just. Nothing."

I get up and tear the page with the poem on it and crumple it into a fist. God this might just be the shittiest poem I ever wrote.

"What was that Jen? Show me." He gets back up and goes for the crumpled paper in my fist.

"Oh no. It's nothing Nilansh. Just one of those shitty poems I write on one of the shitty days."

"Okay. I wanna read it."

"No I don't want you to please."

"Umm alright." He sighs and his eyes study mine for a while until I break the contact and lie back down. He follows.

"You know nothing you ever wrote was shitty Jenna. You are meant to do this."

It is true that he has been reading each one of my poems. Admittedly, he certainly digs deeper than almost everybody and forwards me the poem privately to ask me why I felt the way I did when writing it. If he had the power, he would make my illness go away.