Sincerely, Me (Treebros - Dear Evan Hansen Fanfiction)

Chapter 10

**This chapter includes some mentions of depression and suicide. Also some painful thoughts about himself.**

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EVAN POV

I'm still thinking about the email. Now I'm not even sad or scared. I'm confused. How did I not see that it was Connor the whole time? I even tried to conceal my identity, at least a little. Connor's just really smart.

The front door opened and I heard the jingling on my mom's keys. She was singing some song from the eighties when she same into my room and said my name to the tune of her song. "E-E-Evaaan, I have some exci-i-iting ne-ews!"

"What is it?"

"We're having dinner at my new friend's house tomorrow. Her name's Cynthia. I met her at art class. She even has two kids your age. Their names were, um, I think Connor and Chloe."

Connor and Zoe? Literally why me? I'm not looking forward to this. Again, I'm not upset. I'm kind of nervous. This is nerve wracking. "Her name's Zoe. Do I have to go?"

"Ah! Zoe, right. Thank you, honey. And if you know her then you should totally go! You can hang out with your friend and have some dinner. It sounds fun!"

"I'm okay. Really."

"Evan, honey, please?"

We never do anything together anymore. I feel like it's my fault for some reason. Ever since my dad left when I was seven, my mom has worked nonstop. When she isn't working, we just awkwardly talk to each other for a few minutes at a time, then she leaves to clear her head and wonder what she's doing wrong. She isn't doing anything wrong. I am. If I could tell her everything I see and how she's everything to me, it would be fine. If I could tell her that she's the best mom ever and I do want to talk to her, it would be fine. But I don't. And I can't.

I feel obligated to go, now that she's giving me the "I just want us to bond and talk and stuff" look.

"Okay, fine."

"Yay! Thank you Evan! I'm so glad we're finally doing something, you know?" She hugged me and left my room.

•

This is torture. My best friend, who I like a little more than that, I think, is silent and doesn't look at me much. His sister, my other friend, is trying to talk so it isn't so painstakingly quiet. Their mother, my mom's new best friend, goes back and forth, bringing new plates of food out every minute. Their father is in the living room watching baseball and reading his newspaper.

Mrs. Murphy sat down and tried to lighten the mood. She felt the tension as well. "So, Evan, I know you know Zoe. Do you know Connor too?"

I barely nodded. If you weren't paying extreme attention, you wouldn't even know that I moved my head.

"Do you two have classes together?"

Connor put his head on the table. I just inhaled and exhaled deeply like my therapist told me on Thursday.

"Con, don't do that. We talked about this," Mrs. Murphy said quietly.

"Cynthia, he's not going to listen. He's probably high," Larry pointed out from the living room.

"He's definitely high," Zoe added.

Mrs. Murphy just laughed in that way that actually meant "well isn't this embarrassing, better laugh to make it seem less weird."

When we finally left, mom talked about how proud she was that I at least tried to keep the conversation going. She said that the whole way home.

I went inside and into the bathroom. I decided to take a shower and cry. If I come out with a tear-stained face, mom will just think it's the water.

And I just sat in there for a while, thinking about myself. I feel so bad. I really like Connor. So why can't I talk to him? Why can't I confide in anyone? Why can't I even ask for help in class? My anxiety prevents any of that. It also prevents me from not overthinking random things. It's horrible.

Depression doesn't help, either. That one makes me feel like it's my fault. What exactly is my fault, you may be wondering. All of it. I feel sad and lonely and worthless all the time. I'm getting my cast off in a few days. Still, no one but C knows it was because of a failed suicide attempt.

I haven't posted on my You Will Be Found blog in exactly six days. That blog is supposed to be keeping myself and others positive, no matter what is going on mentally and/or physically. I don't even take my own advice. I can help Connor, but he can't help me. Neither can I. Or my therapist. Or my mom.

Maybe I won't be found.

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Ouch