LOVELORN

9|Distress & comfort

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*𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴 𝘢 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘶𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘥𝘦, 𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘮 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘧𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘹𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘶𝘭𝘵.*

AS EXPECTED, my parents came back on Sunday and I was back to not being able to see Zora. The days dragged out. When I wasn't in school, I was forcing myself to study despite my mind plaguing me. I could hardly concentrate for the most part, the words blurring together and headaches making me holding my focus improbable.

Getting up in the morning a bit easier, not a lot, but it was something. The weight didn't feel as heavy. It was still there, pulling me, forcing me to fight against it to get through the day. The fucked thing with depression, especially when it was at its worse stages, was that I had to force myself to do things that a normal person wouldn't even think twice about. Everything was a chore, even the shit I loved. The world was glum, grey and pessimistic, and I had to dig to its core to find a spark of color. While for others, it was everywhere.

One day it was Monday and the next Friday was already there. I couldn't keep track of anything. It was all slipping out of reach. Just there but not reachable. The weeks were neverending, yet, in juxtaposition, dreadfully short. Long enough to wallow but not to do anything of importance.

As I trudged down the boisterous hallway, my eyes flitted between laughing teens, exuburant couples, and friends mingling. Their joy was tangible. I wondered then, what it was like to pass through the day looking, not necessarily through rose-colored glasses, but through ones that weren't stained by despondency.

I reminded myself that an assumption based on outside appearances wasn't always accurate. My preconcieved notions were just that and I knew nothing of them beyond what was visible by the eye. It was almost egoistical of me to assume myself to be the only person capable of sorrow, when I knew that wasn't the case. I wasn't special. I was simply another pitiful person passing through the day, just like billions of other people.

However, the self-awareness didn't stop my train of thought from going down a pit of doom. If anything, the hyper-awareness of my surrondings and thoughts was making it difficult to breathe.

I focused on my breathing, every breath feeling like lead. The air didn't feel like enough. Unclutching and clutching the straps of my backpack, I tried to remain in the presence. My vision started to go blurry. I blinked in an attempt to clear it. However, I hadn't been paying attention and felt myself bumping into someone before I could stop it.

An apology escaped my lips. They said something to me but it felt like I was underwater and I couldn't take a full breath. One second I was in the hallway and the next I was in the bathroom, my knees to my chest on the toilet, arms wrapped around them. I wasn't even certain what had caused the sudden onset of anxiety this time, which was sometimes more frustrating than knowing. Or maybe there were just too many reasons for me to keep track of them.

School, Zora's distance, my parents, Avi, everything. The weekend was on its way and I dreaded every week that came. It was all so tiring and I felt like I was being seeped dry of my energy. Even on the better days, it was always there, tracing behind me like a shadow and reminding me it wouldn't leave, eventually crawling up on me and enveloping me in its suffocation again. It felt so unfair that some people were born to thrive while others had to struggle to.

With unsteady hands, I grabbed my phone, an old one of Avi's he'd found a few days ago and lent me, sending a message before shoving it into my pocket again. I splashed my face with water after calming down and went to lean against the wall outside the bathroom.