Skinny (Love & Hope Series #1)

Chapter 1-Dealing With Grief

It has been a few months since your mother died from a mysterious disease. You still seem off by the whole situation, still torn by her death. Things are about to change, however, for the worst.

"I'm doing it." I say, convinced that death is a choice for me.

"What is 'it'?" Robert asks, befuddled.

"I don't know. I feel--I feel lost without her."

"I know, honey, everything will be okay. People say chocolate's the best medicine for being depressed. Do you want me to get you some Hershey's and Shuttle Butters?"

"Yes, please. Thank you very much. I just have no idea where I'd be without you."

"No problem. That's what I'm here for: to help you out, to wipe your tears, be your shoulder to cry on, and be there for you when you need me, like right now. We'll get through this. I know we will."

"Is Steven alright?" I looked around for my brother, who was no where to be found. "Steven? Steven, where are you?"

I looked like I was going to cry again, tears welling up.

"Sh, sh, it's alright, I'm here, don't worry."

"Sweetheart." A voice kindly said. 

I looked up, befuddled, hoping Mom was there, but then, she vanished. A man came up to me. I hope she's better up in Heaven now. O, Lord, please help me through this difficult time. I place my trust in You. 

"Honey, are you here?" The male voice first was quiet and then was a little louder. I looked up, seeing a tall, lanky man that is my father. He has a little bit of gray hair in the front. He works at a company called Berganstein National Lighting Company. "How's my little angel?" He asked.

"Depressed. I feel lost without her, Dad. I feel...cheated by Him."

"You're never cheated on. God won't let that happen. He has a special place in our hearts and it was time. She was in pain with her mysterious illness. We need to thank Him for sending her into my life and having you and Steven. I wouldn't be the man I would be today without you guys."

"But why did He take her away, Dad? We're in pain. Why would He do this?"

"It's all part of His plan. Count your blessings. You never know what tomorrow will bring. Come, let's go home."

                                                                                          ***

When we got home, things got worse. I kept on imagining her there, looking at me, saying something to me. When I think of her, I tear up, still, still haunted by her image. I began showing signs of depression: loss of appetite, withdrawing from friends, deleting social media, and eating less.

I wonder, what's the point? I mean, if we're going to die, why not now? Why do we have to suffer so badly because a family member or loved one died? I want to be brave, but I can't, not with all these feelings trapped in my brain, wanting me to act on it. Suicide is a sin in my religion, and I will go straight to Purgatory. I don't want to go to Purgatory. Everything just seems...useless, bleak, in a daze, the same thing every single darn day. I just want happiness in my life, forever. Mom gave me happiness, and now, it seems like I've lost it, lost forever. That piece of me being held together by my parents is now shattered by this grief, and death.

I start eating less, going from one hundred and three to ninety five pounds in just three weeks. Everyone starts taking notice. My hair is starting to thin, my face looks gaunt, my ribs are starting to show, and I look sick. Life just seems useless right now. Getting thinner, my dad got worried, and starts looking for doctors. I try to convince him that I'm fine, but he thinks otherwise.

"You're starting to look sick." Dad said to me one night. "You're getting thinner. What's wrong?"

"Nothing, I'm fine." I say, tearing up the bread that I got from the bowl in the dining room.

"There's something wrong and you know it. Don't lie, or you will have major consequences."

"I'm sad. I can't do this anymore. I want to be happy, but it feels like this barrier is preventing me to be happy. I'm trying, but it's not working."

"We're going to see Doctor Cornwall tomorrow. She'll know what to do."

"I'm not going to the doctor. You can't make me. I'm eighteen."

"It's for your own good and health. Everyone's worried about you. You need help."

I started crying, realizing that he's right, I do need help. I'm still mad at him for bringing the "You need help" sentence in the argument. I can take care of myself. I'm not sick.

"I'm not sick, I'm fine." 

I smashed one of Mom's precious plates, the ones she got from her grandmother, which are nowhere to be found now in stores.

I ran off to my room in a huff, and went to sleep, crying hysterically about everything--going to the doctor, my mood swings, my thinness, school, the loss of my mom--everything that prevents me from being normal now.