A slow fall

Chapter 14 - Caleb

    My apathy for life was ever present. 

My facade succeeded in dissuading those around me, but at times my emotions nosedived; suddenly, pretending was impossible. Everything felt wrong: Too much, too confusing

All the emotions I had been repressing, hiding away as if they never existed, hit me full force once I returned home from Shane's house. I didn't stay there long—every minute it got harder and harder to function and I knew what that meant. I knew where it was leading, and I needed to leave before I shut down completely.

I didn't want them to see that.

After my panic attack I was already feeling drained, and while Shane's house felt more comfortable than my own, my room was my space and it was the best place I could be.

Words were becoming too much, but I managed to pick up the phone.

My mother reluctantly picked me up.

Shane only lived a few blocks away and yet my mother acted as if she had done the work of a saint. I'm not sure if what she did was beyond what was expected of a parent or not. I thanked her, obviously, what more she wanted from me I wasn't sure.

I soon passed the point of caring.

The week had been long and tiresome, my lack of sleep made me feel like a walking corpse and faking everything only drained me more. I wondered if my smiles seemed as forced as they were, or if my input in conversations came across as scripted as it felt.

To me my acts of deception seemed painfully obvious and I was sure they appeared as such, but I'd been lying for so long I think I'd perfected the art.

At some point even artists lose their inspiration.

Every call I received on Monday was silenced. Every text left unopened. Every function my body required to exist went ignored.

My mind and my body were enemies, both holding a gun and waiting for the countdown to sound to see who would come out on top.

No matter who won, I was always the victim.

It was Wednesday before I began to function like a human again, though not through choice.

My parents disproved of my 'episodes' and believed I used them as an excuse to miss school. They used to drag me out of bed and force me out of the house.

That in itself was a feat, my parents would say words to me that my brain couldn't make sense of and require me to do things I couldn't comprehend.

All while trying to keep it secret from my brothers. I was never sure why.

Going to school when I could barely function let alone act like a normal human around my peers only made things worse.

Sometimes I would just feign sickness—I suppose I was sick in some sense—and either get myself sent home, or camp out with the nurse all day.

When I got sent home my parents would always complain about my sense of entitlement, how this was only a product of being coddled and teenage angst, but the disruption to their own lives led to them letting me stay off when things became too bad.

My absences roused suspicion from my friends and concern from my teachers, but both me and my parents had learnt how to lie. Another sin I suppose, and yet that's okay?

I wonder how long this could go on for before someone's suspicion grows beyond what our lies can dissuade.

After a while my parents began to understand it was best to leave me alone when I was like this. That doesn't mean they had to understand or empathise with me. In their words: I needed to man up and deal with it.