Believe Me; I'm Fine...Maybe [ON HOLD]

Chapter One

     Clutching my favorite old picture, the one of my mom and dad swinging a giggling, four year old me over a rain puddle in the springtime, I smile sadly, silent tears streaming down my face. I take in a shaky breath and finally place the picture back down onto my bedside table. Walking to the other side of my bedroom into my bathroom, I grimace at the sight of myself in the mirror, black mascara streaked down my cheeks and my eyes all red and blotchy. I sigh and dampen a cloth with my make up remover and get to work on my face, letting my thoughts wander back again.

     You'd think I would be used to this day by now. November 13th. The day I became orphaned. But the pain never subsides, never goes away, even after ten years. Sure, sometimes it fades a bit if you're doing things to keep your mind off of the subject, but you know there will always be a piece of you that's missing. Or in my case, two pieces. You never get over what life could have been like had things gone differently, never get over the several moments that never got to and never will be experienced. Though I know it doesn't do well to dwell on the past, it's very hard not to. And that's what hurts the most.

     Once all traces of make up are erased from my face, I flip the light switch off in my bathroom and lay down on my bed. Sinking into the soft cushioning of my pillows, I concentrate on the fan revolving on the ceiling, trying to clear my head of any and all depressing thoughts. I hate being in such low moods all the time.

     "Mikealah, honey, are you all right?" I look up to see my adopted mother standing just ouside the doorway of my bedroom, concern evident on her face. I thought I closed my door? "You seemed pretty upset at dinner."

     "Yeah, Mom, I'm fine." Lie. Complete and total lie.

     "Could I come in?"

     "Of course."

     An amazing chocolate-y aroma makes its way to my nose as my mom walks closer to me. Brownies. Great. She's trying to get me to eat again. I swear, she thinks I have some kind of eating disorder or something. I roll my eyes internally.

     "Mom, you know how much I love your famous triple chocolate brownies, but I'm really not hungry." The tone of my voice ends up coming out a lot harsher than I meant it to.

     "Please, honey. At least try to eat something. You hardly touched your dinner, and you're getting so thin. It scares me."

     I hate making her worry. So I take the plate and force a smile that feels foreign on my face. She places a cup of milk on my nightstand and heads toward the doorway. Before leaving me alone again, my mom turns back to me, one last question lingering in her mind.

     "You know you can tell me anything, right, sweetheart?"

     I want to believe that. I want to believe it more than anything, but I don't even know how to begin to tell her that I think I have depression. She'd probably think I'm just being another "over-dramatic teenager" who thinks the world is going to end at any given time. So I lie. Again.

     "Sure, mom," I answer with another one of those fake smiles that I've perfected so well.

     Mom seems to be satisfied with my answer. She walks out of my room with a smile on her face, shutting the door quietly behind her. I shake my head and sigh, placing the plate next to the untouched glass of milk and go over to see what kind of homework I'm stuck with tonight.

     I flop down onto my orange beanbag chair, feeling it comfortably mold to my body, and rummage around through my backpack, pulling out binders.

     Geometry, biology, Eng--- what's this?

     A sloppily folded piece of paper flutters out of my binder, catching my eye.