They Call It Depression {edited}

Chapter Six

Part 2~Six Months in Hell

After I got the abortion, I went straight to Brandon's house to tell him what happened. "I'm so proud of you," he said. But it didn't make me feel any better. My stomach hurt and I wanted nothing to do with myself. I felt so unworthy of love.

"I feel horrible," I told Brandon.

"I'm sorry. Do you need anything?"

"Just some rest. Maybe some time alone." I sighed.

"If you want to leave, you can. I won't make you stay," Brandon offered.

"Thanks. I think I'll go home."

"Okay." He led me to the door and kissed my forehead. "I love you."

"How? How can you love me after what I've done?"

"Mackenzie, what you did was brave. I couldn't have done it if I were in your shoes. I want you to know that I couldn't be prouder of you."

"Thanks," I said, but I still felt horrible.

"Now, you go home and get some rest. Call me if you need anything."

"I will. Thanks for understanding."

"No problem." He smiled and gave me a quick kiss. "Bye."

I left and walked home. He didn't live very far from me: only about four blocks. I couldn't drive-at least not by myself-so I usually walked everywhere.

When I got home, I laid down in my bed, but I couldn't sleep. I laid there for hours, just thinking about what an awful person I was. I didn't deserve to be alive. I had killed someone; I was a criminal. It should be me that was dead, not that perfect little baby.

I got up out of bed and went to the bathroom for a razor. Then I came back to my room and locked the door.

I turned the razor over in my hands again and again, wondering what I should do. I wanted to hurt myself. I deserved it, didn't I? After what I'd done, I didn't deserve to be happy.

Finally, I scraped the razor across my wrist. It didn't do anything at first, so I went deeper with the blade. I felt a prick in my skin as it broke through, and a small gasp escaped my lips. It hurt, but wasn't that the point?

I kept going until there were cuts up and down my left arm. Blood trickled out of them and it stung so bad, but I was relieved. I needed this. The razor was my friend now, and would be for many months.

- - -

I shake my head to clear it. I'm in the shower, shaving my legs. The memory of cutting myself comes back to me a lot when I'm in the shower. It seems that almost every time I pick up the razor, the awful memories come flooding back.

I've contemplated getting laser hair removal, so I don't have to worry about shaving anymore. No more razors, no more reasons to remember. But I don't have the money to do that, and besides, it would probably hurt.

I turn off the water and step out of the shower. I wrap myself in a towel and sit down on the toilet seat to rub lotion on my freshly-shaven legs. Probably the only good thing that comes out of having those memories is soft, smooth legs. It was always one of the best feelings in the world.

I'm meeting with Nathan today to talk about the wedding. It's in only a couple of days now, and the date is creeping up on us. I'm excited, but a little but nervous too. I've never been married before, or lived with a guy. I wonder what it'll be like.

- - -

Nathan and I meet up at Starbucks later that day, and I get the cotton candy latte. It's amazing, as always.

We sit down to eat and begin to talk. "How're the bachelor-party plants coming along?" I ask.

"I'm leaving it all up to Ben," Nathan answers. "He's planning the whole thing."

"Oh, nice. He's single, right?"

"Yeah...why? You're not thinking of leaving me for him, right?"

I laugh and say, "No, of course not. But I think Nevaeh likes him."

"Really? He likes her too."

"OMG, really?"

"Yeah! Every time I talk about you, he makes it a point to mention Nevaeh."

"How often do you talk about me?" I ask, smiling.

"Oh, quite often. The wedding's about the only thing on my mind these days."

I wish I could say the same... But every day is a struggle with my past. I'm constantly remembering the rape incident, the abortion, the depression. All of it. But I've yet to share my thoughts with Nathan, or Nevaeh. I can't bring myself to let them inside my mind. Both of them know what I went through, but neither my fiancé nor my best friend knows the constant struggle I face.