Levels of Stress

Level Five

On a particular Thursday, I remember feeling kind of down. I've hit these moods since I was nine. I'd wake up and look at the dark ceiling, feeling the same emptiness every time. There was nothing to look forward to in the day except for the fact that it would be over soon.

I'd never been officially asked what level I was at. It was my system of coping and assigning and even organizing. Next to no one knew about levels. Still, if I'd ever been asked and answered a five, it was either a lie or the truth, meaning I was halfway to insanity.

A five doesn't sound like much. It's actually not the worst day for me. At level five, I can still lift myself up and allow others to try as well.

I crossed my arms on the table and placed my head in the middle. Closing my eyes, I breathed out a sigh while the rest of the class was busy doing work.

"What does it feel like?" a girl had asked.

I sat up and blinked until I could see her clearly, "What does what feel like?"

She spun in her chair, "Depression. What's it like?"

I looked to my hands and felt my heart snap. Do I really look that sad? I thought the fake smiles and sarcastic jokes were working just fine. Evidentially I was wrong.

I came close to denying it. She couldn't possibly know about how I felt on the inside. I could just be tired today, but I was tired everyday. It could just be a bad day, but there was a long, reoccurring trend of them.

So, I looked up at the clock and back to her, still slouched onto the tabletop. I gave in, feeding her a feeling that she might understand.

"Depression...is like drowning and watching everybody else breathing just fine," I said plainly and looked to her. She had turned away, either not understanding or embarrassed to have asked.

I should've just played it off.

After history, I dragged myself off to chorus. It was down the hall, away from the other classes in fear that the sound or music might bother or distract other classes.

The chorus room was next to the band room and there was music coming from it. I heard it over the rest of my classmates talking. Once again straightening myself up in my chair, I realized something. It wasn't music at all. The school band was off at a concert and no one was in the room.

Had I been imagining it? There was a distinct, heavy beating in my head that could not be ignored. It even followed a pattern.

I shook the thoughts from my head and deemed myself crazy. I blamed it on the day and groaned, letting my forehead hit the table.

I was with my mother that day after school. I felt more free to be me around her. She knew about my friends and enjoys building relationships with the ones that count.

She snuck in my bedroom later after dinner and jumped onto the bed, "Who's on the line?" she settled in and looked at the name.

I just so happened to be reading a notification from Danielle. I was always late to reading her texts, and I felt awfully guilty for it, but she was nice enough to let it slide by. She was the kind of friend I needed and I was happy and lucky to have her.

My mom loved Danielle. The two of them had a lot in common. They shared the same taste in men (especially bassists), an alike taste in music, a similar personality, and a genuinely caring attitude. I could almost see her smiling while typing every letter.

Danny was one of the few friends I could count on to make me feel better. While talking to her, I grew faith in humanity. It surprised me when I met her, because I didn't think anyone else cared about the stuff I did or showed care for anyone like she did.

It's amazing how small of an effort it takes to make someone's day. A smile, a text, lending hand, or just reminding someone that you'll always be there for them can give you a good feeling in your heart.

My mom wasn't paying attention when I looked back to see at what she was doing. She was scrolling through feed while I smiled like an idiot.

Danny made me feel like I wasn't alone, and she wasn't the only one to do so. She accepted me for who I was in the beginning and will likely stick with me to the end. We don't talk all too much, but when we do, it really counts and I love every second of it.

Level Five: Head Crazy