Help...

My story

Every day gets harder and harder. I'm getting tired of fighting. Depression is one thing but, depression and anxiety is another. It's like waking up for school. You don't want to get up because your sad and rather lie in your bed forever but then worrying about if your gonna fail school if you miss this one day. Like your being pulled in two opposite directions. I can't remember how I became depressed. I just woke up one morning and cried, and after that I just kept getting worse. My mom started taking me to see a counselor. We talked about everything. He was the only person that could understand what I was going through. I told him all my secrets and he told me most of his. But a year later he committed suicide. I guess he needed help more than I did. After his death I got worse. I stopped eating and stayed in bed most of the time. That's when my mom got really concerned and sent me to live in a hospital. They made sure I ate and took my medicine everyday. I was getting better. I met a friend while I was there. I would always watch him as he came in for his chemo.  He had brown locks which soon disappeared after his chemo. He caught me watching him one day. He had a big smile on his face even though he just puked up half his body weight. He looked at me and winked, before the nurses pushed him away in his wheelchair. 

A few days after him catching me stairing. He came to my room.

"I've been looking for you."

"Me?" I stuttered.

He smirked. He was quite cocky but it was cute on him.

"Who else? Your Sophia right?"

"Yeah..."

"What are you here for?" I felt like he was starting into my soul with his beautiful blue eyes.

"Depression and anorexia. You?" I wasn't afraid to tell him. I didn't care if he knew. I'll probably never see him again.

"Leukemia." His cockiness disappeared in a matter of seconds.

"I'm so sorry."

"Why? You didn't give me cancer. So no need to apologize."

"On a scale of 1 to 10, how bad is it?" Why would I ask a stupid question like that? He probably thinks I'm an asshole.

"Nine."

"Why not ten?"Why can't I just shut up.

"It'll be a ten when I die." He said walking to the door and grabbing the handle.

"Wait! What's your name?" I ask.

"Brock. My name is Brock."