Lost But Found

Chapter One: We Don't Sell Icees

    "The loneliest moment in someone's life is when they are watching their whole world fall apart, and all they can do is stare blankly."
~ The Great Gatsby
      ______________________________

"Are you okay?" This question swirls around in my mind all the time but yet I always have the same answer.

No, I'm not okay.

I haven't been okay since I was eleven, maybe twelve. I'm still breathing though, unfortunately.

It's sorrowful to say that I've killed someone.

A young girl so innocent and carefree; she didn't know how cruel the world could be until the incident. It was then, she was tragically killed by me.

You see, I killed the girl who used to be me. That young soul is now lost in a sea of unhappiness.

The truth is that I suffer with depression.

Living with it is practically hell. It's like watching people around you breathing but instead your blue lips inhale words of self-hatred and you know you should be able to fill your lungs with fresh oxygen like everyone else, but you can't. And the worst part is people mistake your chest frantically rising up and down as breathing when you're actually suffocating.

Many say that depression can only be diagnosed by a psychiatrist but after many self-tests online, I have all the symptoms.  I refuse to seek help though. What's the point? I already know I'm not going to live for long.

The name's Remi Wagner by the way. I'm seventeen and a senior at Ridgewood High. If you were to ask others about me, yes, you over there being a creepy person, my peers would say that I'm emo. Hats off to them for that since I do carry all the cliché necessities of being emo; the dyed, long, black hair, all black clothes, and quiet demeanor. By the looks of it, I'm your stereotypical emo but if you overlook the surface you will see something more in me...

Pushing open the door to the Coffee Bean - might I add that I tend to pull instead of push, I'm instantly greeted with the smell of coffee and bleach?

I turn my head side to side and sniff the air.

Yep that's bleach alright. Hmm... I wonder if I could request for some in my coffee.

Looking around the joint, I see people sitting at tables chatting away and taking sips of their drinks. Others sit by themselves reading or typing on their laptops. Getting in the short line of waiting people, I gaze over the counter and sure enough an employee is on his knees cleaning a huge puddle of liquid with the culprit himself, bleach.

"Steve, what is this?!" The manager growls. He walks over to the barista and points down at the mess.

The guy cleaning the floor looks up nervously, "J-John um well...you see-"

"Get up!"

Steve obeys and stands up, his legs wobbling in the process. Gaining his balance, he displays a long wet stain running down the pant of his leg.

The manager stares him down, "I have orders getting backed up in the drive-thru and you're over here-"John pauses and eyes Steve's pants. He then sighs exasperated, "Please tell me you didn't wet yourself."

No answer.

"Please tell me you didn't wet yourself," John now raises his voice and repeats once more.