We lay on my car hood on top of an old hill by my childhood home.
"I used to go sledding here," i tell him.
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah, I broke my arm."
"I remember. You told me. You ran into the fence."
"Have you ever gone sledding?"
"Nah."
The stars are barely shining through the fog. I was buried underneath five blankets, and Steven was next to me. He wore a sweatshirt and was smart enough to wear jeans and sweatpants. While I'm in just normal jeans and a coat.
"I think I know why I always call you at the last minute of episodes," he says.
"Why?"
"Because after I go through all the steps of convincing myself, I always need to hear you. I kind of need a reminder that maybe...I can be okay."
Love isn't a cure for anything. It doesn't cure cancer, or solve metal illnesses. No matter how harsh the truth and reality is, it doesn't.
But maybe, just maybe, it encourages.
Love is the thing in the back of the mind that says, "get your ass up because you are better than this."
I know his eyes are watering. Mine are too.
"I...I want-"
"Answer me this Steven. Do you want to get better?"
He doesn't respond. I remove the blankets off me and grab his hand to yank him up. The tears are falling freely. Not out of sadness but out of pride, pride for him. Because he's about to admit something that is the bravest thing I will ever hear someone say.
"Do you want to get better?" I ask him again as I lead him to the edge of the hill.
"Yes," he answers quietly.
"I need you to say it."
"I want.. I want to-"
"I can't hear you!" I yell. "Tell the world, I want you to scream it!"
"I want, I want to get better."
"Louder!"
"I want to get better! I want to get better!"
I laugh, and smile and blush and do everything that is humanly possible to show my happiness.
He looks at me, smiling.
It's not a cure. It's an encourager.
"I love you."
He cries, and repeats the words back to me.
Sad thing is about depression. It isn't romantic.
But somehow it shows up, like it's supposed to be that way, and it helps, it doesn't heal...but...it helps.
YOU ARE READING
It's Not a Cure
Short StoryThe reality about depression is that, it's not romantic. Yet somehow, it always ends up that way doesn't it? Between Steven and his unknown friend, the roller coaster of depression isn't romantic, but somehow it seems that way.
