Over the Edge

Ch.10-Moments of Clarity

~Emmalyn~

I had only been legitimately, diagnosably depressed once in my life. And that was during the weeks following the incident. After that I had gotten my shit together and forced myself out of it. The therapist had warned me little things could trigger a relapse, could put me back into the emotionally-destructive state I had once been in.

I didn't know a few flash backs and a bump to the head could get the job done so thoroughly.

I wasn't sure why I had played the lie for Rhys. And I had been asking myself that for the past day. I still hadn't come up with an answer.

There was a soft knock on the door and my mother poked her head in. She smiled. "How are you doing, Emma?" she asked.

I shrugged. Precautionary warnings from the therapist in Philadelphia had warranted my mother keeping me home. That and she didn't want me walking around after the nasty fall. "I'm fine," I mumbled, drawing my knees up where I sat on my bed, tucking my chin between them. "What do you want?"

She walked further into the room, flicking on the lights. I cringed. Being immersed in darkness for the past eternity didn't help anything. "I brought your pills," she commented quietly, as if she was reluctant to say so. "Do you want some?"

I shivered, thinking back to the last time I had seen that wretched bottle. "No."

"I think you should, Emma, so you don't take this any further."

"I don't need those."

"Sweetie, please think clearly here." She perched herself on the edge of my bed. "Don't you remember what the therapist said? He said these would help. You need to take a couple."

I shook my head vehemently. "I'm not sick," I spat. "I don't need medicine."

"Emma . . ."

"Can you please leave me alone?"

She stiffened. "I don't think that's a good idea. He said not to leave you by yourself-"

"What he says doesn't fucking matter!" I lashed out, harsher than I meant. I found I held no reserves when I felt like this. It was all hatred, all the time. "Since when did you listen to what therapists said?"

"I know you think they're crazy," she murmured. "I thought the same thing when I was your age. But some of them really know what they're talking about. Dr. Simmons knew what he was talking about."

I snorted. "Whatever you say."

She sighed and the bed shifted as she rose to her feet. "I'll be downstairs if you change your mind."

"Okay."

"I made spaghetti."

"Cool."

"Your father called. I told him what happened. He wants to talk to you when you're up to it."

I nodded. "Sure."

She sighed again and walked out. I unfolded myself and furrowed beneath the blankets, pulling them up to my chin and turning on my side. This was the worst. Literally the fucking worst. That feeling like someone found all the purpose you had inside of you and then just sucked it out. It left you feeling like a marionette with nobody working the strings.

It didn't take a lot for you to feel like the whole world was against you, I was realizing. Like everybody was out to get you. Like there was nothing left for you anymore. It was dismaying and scary.

I wondered if my mother's was this bad. Or if it was worse. Could it be worse? I felt pretty damn bad. But she had told me she had gone through some severe problems. Problems that sounded like they could seriously mess a person up. How did she do it? How did she turn into the person she was now?