Short Story Collection

Depressed Girl Lights Up

I never found myself to be very happy. Even when I downed the bottle of pills, happiness still eluded me. I curled up to sleep in my plain, sterile bed on the fourth floor of the hospital. The west wing was were all of the "loonies" were kept. All I could think about was how bright the light coming from our gathering space was as I tried to close my eyes for good.

Bright was all I could think. It was very sudden. One moment I was asleep, gone, and dead. Now I am bright, vibrant, and alive. The world has shifted on me. I am no longer standing on the hard linoleum floor. Instead I can feel screws anchoring me into the ceiling. I am one round being; carefully nestled into a protective shade. I am above the table of the gathering room. Many people are walking around. Some are patients some are doctors. My thoughts are quick, the electricity in me filling my head with thoughts and ideas about the space below me. I am silent besides a soft hum. Thoughts of my previous life wander back into my head. I could have been different. I could have lived. I should have.....

Brightness again. Always bright, like the sun. I lost my train of thought. The people below me have changed. They are in different clothes. Their hair sits just a little differently. It must be the next day. Why can't I remember the night? Maybe I can only think when the electricity gives me life. I focus on the ground below. A girl that looks to be about 13 hugs her mother tight, swearing that it was just an accident, that she'll never do it again. I know better. I can see the scars on her arms. I used to have similar scars. They covered my legs, arms, and stomach. Now I am shiny and smooth. Not one imperfection on my glass skin. For once I feel better than the others in this space. I am not riddled with problems like they are.

This first day as I now call it moves slowly. There's not much to do as a lightbulb. I sit here in my little sphere watching the people below me try to make it through the day. This morning (after the girl hugged her mom) I watched my own mother stumble into the wing. She passed in and out of my view, talking to different doctors and nurses. Screaming at them to answer her desperate questions. Eventually she grabbed a back of my belongings and ran out of my sight into my therapist's office. By the lunchtime gathering she returned. This time she made no demands. She just silently walked away. She cast one glace toward the table of kids who were talking about their problems and just stopped, hoping to find my face among them. If only she had known that I was above her, desperate to let her know that I was still here. I was angry that I couldn't talk to her. I was furious that I had caused her this pain. My anger built until I went dark for a second. When the brightness returned my mother was staring straight up at me, her head tilted slightly with her confusion. A few more tears slid down her cheek and she left my sight again. It was the only goodbye that I could manage.

After that I didn't know what else to do. So I just watched and watched and watched for hours. That's what I am still doing.

One girl has caught my attention more than the others. Her jet black hair seems to ripple like water as she throws her notebook at her therapist when he tries to take her to her nighttime session. Her frustration is plain on her face when she tells him that nothing is helping. She is me. I tried the same thing. All I wanted was for someone to listen to me when I said that I had nothing left in me. I was dark inside and no amount of therapy was going to change that. Her therapist gently touches her shoulder and manages to guide her down the hall toward the bedrooms. I feel bad for her. She had just shown up the night I changed. A willful spirit that had reached a breaking point was introduced to us as Lucy. She was a mutilator, same as me. The marks on her arms and even neck told of her pain. Lucy told me that this wasn't her first time here. She was a seven time repeater. That is what set me off. We were so similar. If she could not get better how could I.

One of the kids down the hall from me had been there a while. He had the doctor's trust so he was eventually able to smuggle a bottle of lithium. He understood my pain and heartbreak that night. I begged him to let me borrow the bottle so I could take a few to calm myself. He was so trusting.

Lucy retuned some time later; in time for our last group session. I stayed above them, like a guardian. I kept the light on so they could see that others were in just as much pain. Maybe they would start to listen to the doctors. Maybe they would make it out of here someday.

Two weeks have passed. Lucy smiles at everyone she talks to. I don't think it's fake anymore. She doesn't take as much medication with her breakfast. Today she has a visitor. A little boy just walked in and ran to her with the speed of a bullet train, crashing into her as if she was a deer in his headlights. She returns his fevered hug with laughter and tears. She carefully brushes his own raven hair out of his eyes. She pulls hidddwm to her chest and whispers something into his ears. His face lights up as brightly as I shine above them.

My light is extra bright today. Lucy walks into my sight with a small bag in her hands. A shy but ecstatic smile illuminates her face. Her younger brother marches with pride as she signs a couple of papers at the nurse's station. Her therapist hands her her folder and the carelessly thrown sketchbook of days long ago and hugs her tightly.

Everyone is a light today. Today there is hope that one less sad girl will disappear into a tunnel of darkness. Today I got to shine above such a beautiful day. Today I got to shine as bright as I could for the girl who gets to carry on our lives; the lives of all those who have not been able to go on. She is me today. The girl who gets to go home. While I do not get to live as she does, I do get to see small miracles like her every day. I get to see what could have been, and all the while I get to shine proudly above them. They are the traveling lights. I am stationary. But I am the depressed girl that lights up her own small world now.