I lay in bed and swallow. Once. Twice. I try to close my eyes, but I can't. I can't even muster up the energy and willpower to shut them. It all hurts so much. The bed sheet is tucked around me, the soft sheets too clean for my ravaged body. My heart hurts, a weight crushing against my chest and pinning me to the frame. The darkness threatens to suffocate me and I can't get up to switch on the light and I can't- I can't-.
The door swings open, flooding the room with much needed light. Adela stands there, looking at my still frame. One step, two. She sits on the edge of my bed. And reaches out, stroking my head. Pushing my hair behind my ears. In, out. I breathe. She stretches out beside me.
"Pick it up, pick it all up. You can start over new." Her voice is soft, calming. Soothing. "Start small. Get out of bed tomorrow. Walk to the bathroom, then the kitchen. I'll give you breakfast. Then you can go back."
It all sounds so, so easy. But it's not. If I can't find the willpower to blink, how can I get out of bed.
"What's the point?" my voice is raspy, torn and broken. Weak, from days of silence.
"You've got a warm heart, you've got a beautiful mind but it's disintegrating. It's those awful chemicals, all those drugs. They broke you, Helen. Those tiny little pills don't control you."
"But" I close my eyes, tears leaking out of the corners. "It's so much easier that way."
"I know, sweetie." We lay side by side. She holds my hand in hers, stroking the back with her thumb. I take bigger breaths, and then I'm filled with resolve. Bringing my hands to my sides, I put my palms flat beside me. I straighten my elbows, then all of a sudden I'm sitting up.
Crippling sadness races through me once more. I'm not important. I'm not relevant. I'm nothing. Those little white pills made me feel like everything. I can't find the energy, the hope inside. I'm an empty husk, a remnant of what could have been. Tears cascade down my face and I fall back, hitting the mattress with a thud. The blanket presses down, smothering me, and I twitch weakly, trying to shake it off.
"GET IT OFF! GET IT OFF!" my voice sounds altogether too loud, too jarring. Adela whips the sheet off, and my naked body is exposed to the air. Naked, vulnerable, exposed. I curl up onto my side, breathing heavily. She reaches out, and pulls me up, resting me against the wall. My head and back are leaning on the drywall, the rough surface feels like thousands of tiny little pinpricks. Adela holds my hands in hers, and looks me straight in the eyes. Her face is soft, open. Burning fire is contained within her eyes, which reflect my empty, dead ones. I can see my face in her eyes, pale, translucent, unhealthy. My breathing slows to a normal rate.
"It's not over, Helen. You can still be who you wanted to be, who you were, when I met you. Start over, a new leaf. Don't you dare give up on me. I know what you're going through. Depression isn't some movie star with a small tear curving artistically down her cheek. It isn't her handsome boyfriend kissing her, hugging her and telling her it's all going to be okay. It is not easy. It is not pretty. It is dirty. It is painful. It is gritty. It is heartbreak. It is not the end." Her voice trembles with passion.
"Not the end.." my voice trails off uncertainly. A fresh start sounds too good. A fire doesn't start inside me, burning, telling me to push forward. It's a spark. A kindling. A beginning.
"Not the end" she repeats.
"Not the end."
