Oceans to Trees

Flower

I talk to Jordan every night, and it seems like every night he is fighting for peace. Because I know the symptoms from my dad, and because I have struggled with my own mental health, I get the feeling that he is dealing with a lot of depression. I encouraged him to go to therapy, but he doesn't seem to want to, and so I do my best to listen to him while I get my schoolwork done. He can't even put a pinpoint on what the problem is. He is just tired and lonely, wanting to be home again. Do you remember how you used to drive nine hours both ways just for a day in your own bed at home?

I am a scientist—born to order and chart information around me—and I've noticed he seems to have a cycle of concerns. The Jordan worry cycle is this: loneliness, sense of failure, and feeling trapped. Every time we talk about each worry, I say the same thing. Sometimes I copy and paste word for word, and because his mental state is so poor, my words are new to him each time. It is scary, and sometimes I wish he had somebody else to talk to or parents like mine who would help him through it. I feel powerless. Do you remember the night you told me about the fighting? How your heart races at a raised voice and every command feels shouted at a young boy just trying to fall asleep?

One night, the feeling of loneliness is too strong, and I can't help him fight it. Promising him that I won't give up on him isn't enough, and so I give him a date to cling to. Do you remember the night you shook so much that I sang to you over the phone? How I said, "we will go out and look at the stars on December 18th while you are home for Christmas." How, you held me to your ear for hours, fearing you'd fall off the earth if you let go.

I am exhausted. I feel like a parent, but it isn't fair that he is alone to suffer. I stay up late to talk to him, and I resume sending letters. He feels more hopeless than ever; like he will be alone for the rest of his life trapped in a place he never wanted to be, as a shell of what he once was. Do you remember the night you almost died?

~ ~ ~

Jordan, it has been three days. I need more than "hi."

My heartbeat slowed to a crawl and sometimes my roommate couldn't wake me.

How did you accidentally overdose on cough syrup?

And then I lied about it to the person I love.

Feeling a tickle in your throat does not justify that quantity of medicine. Idiotic.

I know I almost died doing that, but I can't help but continue to crave the relief from my own life.

How could you jeopardize your life when I care about it so much?

I never did it again.

Do you not care that you are directly damaging something that makes me happy?

But that didn't mean I stopped wanting to.

~ ~ ~

I've always found myself frustrated by Harry Potter. When my dad first read me the books, I would ask him, snuggled into my covers, "why do they not get help?" As a child, listening to the story, I knew that sometimes a situation needed somebody who knew more than you did. Why not get help? Sometime since then, I began myself taking on challenges above my scope of knowledge.

Jordan? Are you there? I type. Seconds later I see he has read my message.

Yeah.

I need to ask you a favor.

Sure.

I need you to find a counselor you can talk to.