The Power Of Love

Epilogue

Epilogue

       I lay staring up at the ceiling of my bedroom. It's different, it feels different. These past six months I have felt like I was sleeping in a strangers bed, It's painful at times to think that my most vulnerable days were spent in this bed swaddled up in my duvet and heat depression lying next to me like a corpse.
Sometimes I get scared that she'll come back. But—I can't live my life in fear anymore, I have to live in the now, to not let the days pass by, to grasp every single moment of this meaningless life and to make it into something. 

      Returning to civilisation has been hard, at times I have felt like a stranger in my own family. Of course, I did what was expected of me, eat dinner, family games night, smile, and laugh, and don't forget to tell Linda and Jeremy how much I love them. I get scared sometimes thinking about losing them, I can't imagine a life without my mother.
A lot has changed since I've been away. Linda painted over my bedroom walls to a deep dark purple, she also got me a ton of new clothes throwing out all the long sleeves and hoodies that I used to force myself in an invisible state. Jeremy talks to me all the time, literally— some nights he'll randomly knock on my bedroom door and come inside just to sit and tell me about his day. But I wasn't complaining, I love my brother and being close to him again reminded me of dad. He's grown to look so much like him, I find comfort in that. 

       I think the reason Jeremy checks on me as much as he does is simply that he's scared that I would try to kill myself again. And the thought of my brother finding me in that state was enough to overpower any thought of suicide that surfaced on my mind.
    And then there was school. It's a lot different, everyone is so kind, friendly—it's weird. Kids I've never ever spoken to in my life are suddenly speaking to me, inviting me places, sitting next to me at lunchtime, rushing to be my partner in P.E. It's strange. The teachers were even more suffocating, always smiling, always offering extra support, always asking how I am. And the school's counsellor well she's another story for another day. I made friends with an exchange student from Korea 'Mindy' she's great. Unlike everyone else, Mindy wasn't suffocating me. She just smiled and looked pretty. 

   I like her.

      It's my birthday today.
Seventeen years old.
One more year away from freedom. 

      I suppose seventeen is supposed to feel this way, right? Am I allowed to feel lost? Not in a depressing way but lost as in what's the freaking point of seventeen? I'm not a big fan of birthdays but Linda is although I practically begged her to not make a big deal out of this. I realise that today's celebration wasn't about me so much. Linda needed this, she needed to see that this was real, that I was Home and that I was safe. Sometimes she holds onto me so tightly I can tell by her wand tears that she's hoping this is not a dream.

     I see Dr Francis weekly at her office in town, we've gotten very close. Sometimes we go to the local coffee shop or for a walk on the beach. She's so different outside of the hospital, I feel like I can tell her anything. I still take medication for the depression and anxiety, they're not that bad after all. The side effects are minor now.

      Of course, not all days are like today where I wake up with new hope. Most days are raw and painful. I had a panic attack three nights ago, I thought about Eric Saltzman and the last time I saw him, I tried to picture his face to see if he was happy or not but all I could see was these deep blue eyes that were drowning in such sadness I felt myself crying and then I was screaming. My mother held onto me while I cried, I breathed heavily through the anxiety attack clinging onto my mother.
   Today I am feeling for a change. I climb out of bed have a shower, wash my face, get dressed, eat my breakfast and leave the house. My mother offers to come with me I decline, I take the 33 bus into town, I sit by the window and look at the beauty of the small town I've known all my life. The bus driver is kind with sympathetic eyes, I ignore it.
  This is a small town and news travels very fast, so of course, he knows about the girl that slit her wrist open. I get off the bus at the stop before the town, I walked into the first salon that I saw.