"Let me explain to you how it feels." She began.
I nodded, telling her to continue without actually saying it.
"A glass of water isn't heavy. It's almost mindless when you have to pick one up. But what if you couldn't empty it or set it down? What if you had to support its weight for days, months, years? The weight doesn't change, but the burden does. At a certain point, you can't remember how light it used to seem. Sometimes it takes everything in you to pretend it isn't there. And sometimes, you just have to let it fall." She looked me dead in the eyes and half smiled. "My head is filling with helium. Focus is fading. Such a small decision to make. Such an easy question to answer. My mind isn't letting me. It's like a thousands circuits are all crossing at once. I was scared of sleeping before you came along. I felt the most raw panic in complete darkness. Actually, complete darkness wasn't scary. It was that little bit of light that would cast a shadow, a terrifying shadow." She grabbed my hands in hers and squeezed them tightly. "They keep telling me to breathe. I can feel my chest moving up and down. Up and down. Up and down. But why does it feel like I'm suffocating? I hold my hand under my nose, making sure there is air. I still can't breathe. A numb feeling. How oxymoronic. How fitting. Can you actually feel numb? Or is it the inability to feel? Am I so used to being numb that I've equated it to an actual feeling? A captive of my own mind. The instigator of my own thoughts. The more I think, the worse it gets. The less I think, the worse it gets. Breathe. Just breathe. Drift. It'll ease soon." She breathed deep and exhaled sharply. "It's strange, in the pit of your stomach. It's like when you're swimming and you want to put your feet down but the water is deeper than you thought. You can't touch the bottom and your heart skips a beat. Cuts so deep it's like they're never going to heal. Pain so real, it's almost unbearable. I've become this.. this cut, this wound. All I know is this same pain; sharp breath, empty eyes, shaky hands. If it's so painful, why let it continue? Unless, maybe it's all that you know. I'm afraid to live and I'm afraid to die. what a way to exist." She laughs halfheartedly. "No matter how much I resist, it'll always be right here desperate to hold me, cover me, break down with me. Each day I fight it, "you're not good for me and you never will be". But there it is waiting for me when I wake up and eager to hold me as I sleep. It takes my breath away. It leaves me speechless. You were created for me and by me. You were created for my seclusion. You were created by venomous defense. You are made of fear and lies. Fear of unrequited promises and losing trust so seldom given. You've been forming my entire life. Stronger and stronger." She paused but quickly continued. "Depression is when you can't feel at all. Anxiety is when you feel too much. Having both is a constant war within your own mind. Having both means never winning."
I could of almost sworn I could feel the way she felt constantly. I had never heard such a phenomenal description about anything before. I didn't really have any words to say. I mean, what are you meant to say in a situation like this?
"You will win." Was all I could manage to voice.
"You see, Sel. The hardest thing is killing the monster inside you, without killing yourself in the process."
"Dems, I can help you. I'll take you to a better place, I promise."
"Ever since you got here, this is the better place, Sel."
"Than why do I feel so hopeless? Why do I feel like one day I'm going to wake up and you just won't be here?" I started to cry.
"Because one day you will wake and I might not be here."
A noise escaped my mouth. I couldn't really explain what it sounded like. It was mixed between a scream and a gasp. She wouldn't leave me, would she?
I had never been good with words so I did what I did best - changed the subject.
I scanned my over around the room and a black guitar with diamonds on it caught my eye.
"So, the guitar." I nodded towards it. "You play?"
"Sometimes."
"What can you play?"
"I.. I write my own songs." She sighed.
"Can I hear?"
"If you must." She smirked.
She walked over to the guitar, picked it up and put the band over her shoulder. She started strumming softly and I was already in awe. It was beautiful. Then, I heard her voice.
Tell me pretty lies
Look me in the face
Tell me that you love me
Even if it's fake
'Cause I don't fucking care at all
You've been out all night
I don't know where you've been
You're slurring all your words
Not making any sense
But I don't fucking care at all
Who knew someone could make curse words sound so... Beautiful. I watched her as she sang the words, flawlessly.
'Cause I have hella feelings for you
I act like I don't fucking care
Like they ain't even there
'Cause I have hella feelings for you
I act like I don't fucking care
'Cause I'm so fucking scared
I'm only a fool for you
And maybe you're too good for me
I'm only a fool for you
But I don't fucking care at all
She hit every single note, perfectly and I couldn't help but wonder why she didn't take her music career further. She sang without effort, it was as though she didn't know how good she was. Or she did and she just really didn't care.
The song ended long before I wish it had of. I could have stood there all day, watching her sing. I was mesmerized.
"Your voice.. Its.. Amazing." I admitted.
"Not really, but thank you." She half smiled.
"Was that song written for anyone in particular?"
"You."
