I let out a sigh. “But she doesn’t seem depressed. Not like my mom did. I wouldn’t have known she was on medication if she didn’t tell me.”
“That’s the point of medication. It helps people feelnormal, for lack of a better word.” He pauses. “If she’s in therapy and taking medication, that shows she is in control of her sickness, and that she’s taking all the necessary steps to maintain her mental health.”
I wipe my palms on my jeans. “She does seem in control of it.”
“So, why the poor reaction to this news? I mean, I can understand that you were shocked. No one wants to hear that the person you care about tried to harm herself, especially when the subject hits so close to home for you. But… why cut her off because of it?”
“How can I trust that she won’t try to do it again?”
“How can you trust that she won’t cheat on you? Or that she won’t want to break up with you one day? Or that a bus won’t hit her on the way to work? You can’t know what’s going to happen, and you can’t stop it. You just have to have faith that you’ll make the best decisions for yourself, and what will be, will be. Much like the night of the shooting, and your mother’s death—you can’t control everything, James.”
“Why does everyone keep telling me that?”
Dr. Parker laughs. “Because it’s true. Listen, you have every right to be cautious when entering a relationship with someone who has a history of mental health issues. Being open and honest with each other is important, which she has done by telling you about her past. She’s taking all the necessary steps to lead a healthy life, and she hasn’t given you any reasons to doubt that. James, I don’t think your problem is with her, or with depression. I think your problem stems from the abandonment you felt when your mom died. You haven’t dealt with that or let go of it. In fact, you’ve let it spider out into every facet of your life. Work, family, now love. When will you stop carrying around your mother’s death like it’s your cross to bear?”
I rub the back of my neck. “I don’t know how.”
“I can help you if you’re ready.”
I think about Phoenix and the way my heart blazes for her. I think about the kind of life I’ve had after my mother died, the dull, mundane life I’ve cocooned myself into. I think about my father, the lonely man who has no one to share his time with.
“I’m ready.”
Phoenix
Daily Affirmation: “I forgive those who have done me wrong with ease.”
It has been said that the best love songs are written about heartbreak.
The same can be said about books. People love those soul-crushing, gut-wrenching, oh-my-god-this-is-the-most-painful-thing-I’ve-ever-read-and-I-might-fling-my-Kindle-out-a-window-if-they-don’t-end-up-happy books as we’re sobbing into a package of Oreos at two o’clock in the morning on a twelve-hour reading bender.
Some of us are masochists like that.
But the reason people like it is because everyone goes through pain and suffering at one point or another. It’s relatable. And we want to root for the heroine to make it out alive, because if she does, then so can we.
I’m going to write a book about my life. It’s not that I think my story is anything special. But I want to write a book that can help people who are struggling through the same thing I’ve been through. Maybe someone will read this and choose to keep fighting. Maybe it’ll be a suicide survivor like me. And just maybe, someone who doesn’t have depression will read it and it will change the way they view the disease.
I want to write about the darkest, lowest time in my life, and then show what happens when you survive it.
I crack open my journal and start writing. I don’t have a direction, or an outline, or a beginning and an end. My plan is to write about the experiences I’ve had and go from there.
I don’t really know what I’m doing, but the words pour out of me all afternoon and it helps keep my mind off James—even if the hero I’m creating in this story seems to be turning out a lot like him. By the time the sun sets and I’m in bed, I’m still writing.
Until a text pops up from James.
James: Hi. Is it okay if I come by? I want to apologize in person.
My chest aches, but I set my phone back down and ignore his text. A minute later, my phone buzzes again.
James: You have every right to be mad at me, but please just let me apologize.
I switch my phone to silent.
James: You know I can see you reading my texts.
Me: Then you can also see that I’m ignoring you.
Me: And don’t be a stalker.