An Attempt Was Made

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Ever since Enzo unloaded some of the baggage he was carrying and shared the stories of his dark past with me, his condition improved remarkably. He became a lot more expressive, upbeat, and eloquent. I suppose the medicines had a role, too.
Enzo had never quite recovered from the childhood trauma, and it left him damaged and broken. He would later tell me that the more he tried to open up to people, the more he would experience something he termed as 'vulnerability hangover', the effects of which were inexplicable feelings of guilt, fear, and sadness. Even telling people so much as how his day went at school or how he felt about a certain person would leave him feeling agitated. However, talking to me didn't cause these undesirable effects, he told me. His expressionless face and anhedonic personality had also been gradually replaced by a playful smile and a more sensitive and sentimental complexion. He was learning to let himself feel all the things he never thought he could, and he no longer seemed alexithymic.

"I should have let myself be a little madder", Enzo said to me one day.
"Do you recall what you told me on the day we first met?"
"That all of us, in one way or other, are mad?"
"Yeah."
"Well, it is true. And now I believe that that is how it should be. Would the world be a worse place if people let their inner madness and eccentricity be known? I do not think so."
"Word", I replied.

It was almost 6 in the evening, and we could watch the sunset from our cabin. As the last rays of the sun reached us, I looked at Enzo, his skin illuminating. He was smiling, his face at peace. We were both sitting on the floor and I inched closer to him, wrapped one arm around his right shoulder, and let my head rest on his left. At that precise moment, a cool breeze greeted us, and Enzo kissed me on my forehead. I would have done anything to make that fleeting moment last forever. I had never felt happier in my life as I felt that day.

It wasn't just Enzo who had shown a good prognosis and signs of improvement. My intrusive thoughts were now much more infrequent, to the point that they were almost non-existent, and my suicidal impulses had diminished. I had a newfound purpose to live for, and I had finally realized, every second of existence is a choice we all make between living and dying.
The thought of dying young no longer made me feel good. I had started fighting for my life again, and Enzo could sense that.

"I don't think you'll die anytime soon", Enzo said one day, as I seemed particularly disturbed.
"But how do I know for sure?" I asked.
"Well. My intuition never lies, plus you did throw up after you had taken the pills, didn't you?"
"Yeah, I did, but that was almost 12 hours later."
"But did you take any antihistamines?"
"No. Only some 30mg of clonaz."
"Ah. Now it makes sense why the doc didn't tell you anything about your liver damage."
"What do you mean?"
"Did you take any clonaz after you threw up the next day?"
"Nope."
"I guessed as much. So here's the good news, coming from someone who has overdosed on benzos as well: overdosing on any medicine will make you throw up, but the withdrawal effects after an intake of any benzodiazepine at a high dose include copious amounts of vomiting. This means, even though you threw up after a good night's sleep of 12 hours, you near about emptied your stomach of any trace of acetaminophen."
Enzo's reassuring tone and the way he dissected my case made me feel like I could trust his words, which consequently, made me feel elated, knowing that I wasn't gonna die.
"Have you checked your SGPT levels?"
"I recall the duty doctor telling me it was at 42 at the time."
"See? You'll be fine. By trying to double up on your chances of dying, you have, ironically, reduced your chances of that happening."
I have no words to describe the sense of relief that Enzo's words made me feel, which was in stark contrast to what I had felt on the first day. It was at that moment I realized, life was, indeed, worth living and I no longer wanted to die.
Neither did Enzo, and his air of nonchalance to whether he lived or died had vanished.
"Life's a vibe, innit."
"You bet."

We talked a lot about different topics on the days that followed, and even talked to some of the other inmates we both had been avoiding. The other two schizophrenics didn't seem particularly interested in talking, although the younger of the two, a woman of about forty, told me a lot about the things that bothered her. She was suffering from paranoid schizophrenia, the same as my mom, except she was a lot more self-conscious, and her paranoia revolved around her looks and appearance. She claimed that her next-door neighbor, another woman of about the same age, had been replacing the medicines that she took for gastrointestinal problems with ones that would make her look ugly (she wasn't particularly attractive in the first place, but of course, she was completely oblivious to that fact). This had stirred up a very heated argument with her husband, who had no choice but to leave her there.
The angry depressive was a boy of seventeen, and he was volatile and homicidal. He was often kept isolated in one of the smaller cabins, so as to avoid any potential conflicts with other inmates that might end in a lawsuit.
The borderline girl of nineteen was a lot more approachable, but she probably also had an associated case of attention deficit hyperactivity disorder or ADHD. Trying to have a conversation with her was like riding a rollercoaster, and she was as unpredictable as London weather. One moment she seemed happy, gleeful, and would be talking about her favorite songs and musicians, and the next she would pertain a state of inexplicable gloom and would start talking about heavy topics like self-harm and death.

Enzo had finally confided his experiences on the internet to me. There wasn't much to tell, as he had just as much trouble communicating virtually as he had in real life, except that he had been a victim of cyber-bullying as well. He didn't maintain a virtual portfolio and had only one social media account, which was his private Instagram. Enzo was particularly fond of photography, and his area of interest was nature. Most of his posts consisted of photos of himself or the ones he took of nature.

As I near the end of my story, I want to tell you about the day of my release from rehab. Enzo and I were released on the same day. My parents had been counseled as well and were on medication, so it was safe for me to return home. Enzo had become a much better and stronger version of himself, and almost everyone at the rehab, nurses and patients alike, either marveled or were jealous of the bond between the two of us.
He would be returning to his uncle's home, which was the safer option for him. He had been staying over at his uncle's house for slightly over a year, during which his parents would visit him once a month. His uncle genuinely cared about him and wanted only the best for him, which was why when he came to know about Enzo's issues, he promptly took action. Since Enzo's academic performance never declined, it was hard to detect the problems he had been dealing with.

I had spent a total of forty days in rehab, while Enzo had stayed for 27 days. In mere 27 days, Enzo had managed to change my entire outlook on life and made me fall in love with staying alive (and him). Which was why after we said our goodbyes to the other inmates, I was overcome with sorrow and felt particularly dejected. I couldn't bear the thought of having to part ways.
I hugged Enzo and felt like crying once more but this time, the tears wouldn't come.
Enzo knew I felt a certain way about him, and so he promised he'd come to visit me at my house and also said that I was welcome anytime at his uncle's.

As we were packing our bags and preparing to leave, Enzo came near me and asked that one question he was so fond of asking.
"So, have you found yourself yet? For you told me you were seeking to find thyself."

The truth was yes, I had. I had found my 'why' my self in Enzo, but I didn't tell him that straight away.

Instead, I laughed a bit. Enzo joined in.

"An attempt was made," I started.
"To seek and find thyself", we chanted together and laughed.

"A successful one at that, too," added Enzo.