Don't Fear The Reaper

{v. what's the worst that i can say?}

❝The truth may hurt, but fooling yourself will enslave you.❞

-Charles F. Glassman

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My therapist once said that, often, self-destructive behaviors, including my tendencies to isolate myself and purposely focus on things that make me unhappy, come from a source of anxiety. This anxiety can be caused by the feelings of being overwhelmed, whether physically or mentally.

Where I am right now, I would certainly consider myself overwhelmed. Everything is blaring lights and deafening noises, accompanied by a thumping pain in my head. Nausea, thick and sickening, works its way through my body like a needle and thread.

It's the similar feelings I have when I flashback to the crash. But this isn't a nightmare. It's only a high school football game.

After a long and tiring spirit week, it all culminates here: Daniel F. Coleridge Memorial Stadium, a.k.a. The Ridge. The center of all that is good and holy in my hometown, according to my peers. Tonight, the Ashdown Jackals are playing their archrivals, the Mt. Abraham Eagles, and the crowd is absolutely electric. Under the lights, things are warm and exciting and alive.

The new quarterback, CJ Sykes, pitches the ball, and it soars across the turf before Trevor Jolie catches it and barrels into the endzone, successfully grabbing a touchdown for the Jackals. The student section goes wild, and the band launches into a vibrant, horn-filled rendition of "Seven Nation Army".

The smell of gravy fries, sweat, and cheap cologne permeates my senses, no matter how hard I try to block it out. It's the shitty perfume of teenagers being teenagers and small towns being small towns, a scent I know better than anything.

I used to go to every football game. I'd sit in the student section with Veronica, go wild when Macy did a stunt with the cheerleaders, and cheer ruthlessly for the Jackals. More than anything, I'd scream Will's name, and he'd look in my direction as he ran across the field, and we'd lock eyes just like we did in those treehouses so long ago.

There was never any sadness, never any misery, never any thought of the end. Our biggest worry wasn't dying or living alone forever or any of the other myriad of anxieties I contemplate now. No, our main concern was the possibility of losing. Will tended to worry about losing a lot. But, and by nothing short of a miracle, Ashdown had won almost every game since freshman year.

I remember the last state championship as clear as ice. It was December, and Will was the quarterback, so of course, he felt like everything was on him. Before we left for the game, I sat on his unmade queen bed, blue and grey blankets strewn around me, while Will paced back and forth. He had his hands around his neck, and he kept looking up at the off-white ceiling as if he was waiting on a sign from God that everything would be okay.

"If I fail this, Lila..." he shook his head. "This is the 3rd year in a row. Back to back to back. If I fail this, nobody's ever going to forgive me."

"I will," I'd said. "And so will everyone else. You've already brought them to victory twice. And besides, this isn't just about you. There's 44 other guys who are wholly responsible as well."

I felt the floorboards creak below me as I came up to Will, taking his hands and putting my head against his. His tan skin was warm, his hands tight with unease, but as I smiled at him, they slowly relaxed. "You are going to be amazing. You always are. And I'm always right about this kind of stuff, so you have nothing to worry about."