Coffee Colored

f o u r

❝feeling like i’m headed for a breakdown and i don’t know why❞

I slept for 18 hours straight.

Nothing puts you into a deep slumber like being told you’re depressed. Or maybe it was just the medication. I can’t really know for sure. The first thing mom made me do when I woke up was take the pills again. After about 3 hours of consciousness I had decided it was definitely being told I was depressed that put me into my comatose.

The pills helped some, but not a lot. They didn’t take away the complete sting that I felt every time my mind slipped over to thoughts of Ronnie, but they did make me a little numb. Just numb enough to take the buzz off of it. My mind was a complete and total mess since that appointment. I had been so sure that I wasn’t depressed, that my insomnia and lack-of-interest in food were just normal teenage antics and that I would get over it soon enough. I had started to feel like maybe I was wrong; maybe mom and Doctor Michaels were right. Maybe the Ronnie situation had, in fact, caused me to become depressed. It was a hard concept to wrap my mind around, but I did the best I could.

I had to face the fact that I was, apparently, depressed and that the pills were to help me. (Even though they didn’t give me that complete numb feeling I was longing for).

I went on with my life to the best of my abilities, although my routine changed slightly. Knowing that I was depressed seemed to make me more depressed, however unlikely that was. I still didn’t sleep much, and I had found myself in that little 24-hour diner more than I found myself in my own bedroom. Braxton hadn’t made another appearance though, which ended up giving me even more anxiety. He had told me that he went to the diner often, but after I said that I would probably come back he stopped showing up. I couldn’t help but think it was because he didn’t want to see me again. It sort of stung but I tried my best to ignore it. Becoming too attached to people had always been a problem for me; that was the biggest issue with the Ronnie situation. I fell too hard and became attached to quickly. The inevitable ended up happening. He left. (Okay, so that wasn’t actually fair to him in any way. He didn’t have a choice as to whether or not he left. It just...happened).

In the first few weeks that followed my diagnosis I came to the conclusion that I was destructive. Not only to myself but to everyone around me. Every person I seemed to come in contact with ended up leaving for one reason or another--I was basically alone except for my mom. I guess you could count my dad too, except that he and I weren’t close at all and he was constantly working. (Somehow I managed to think that was my fault as well--side effect of the depression). I know that it was probably all in my head, but it felt so real at the time. It felt so real and it stung so, so bad.

I wanted to go back to that first night at the diner, when I had been full of hope. I wanted to be dancing with Braxton to my favorite songs, drinking coffee and laughing at the stupid jokes he made. Things change quickly though, without so much as a warning. That night had happened and now I had to move on. I couldn’t keep thinking of what would happen if I could go back to that night. I couldn’t let my mind wander over to the thought that life could always be like that, because it just couldn’t. I needed to force myself to forget Braxton and the hope I had felt with him. I needed to forget about that night in the diner. I needed to focus on bringing my life back together, because at that moment in time it felt like it was all falling apart.

*  *  *  *  *  *

It was two weeks after the appointment when mom finally enrolled me in school. It was hectic to say the least. The morning consisted of waking up at six a.m after a fairly sleepless night (no thanks to the pills), taking a quick shower and eating a light breakfast.

The minute I stepped into Jericho High School it hit me like a ton of red bricks being thrown at my face. I should be in LA, going through my senior year with Ronnie by my side. I wasn’t though. I was in Jericho, at a school where I didn’t know a single soul. It felt horrible. The little blue pills I had swallowed before leaving the house did nothing for the sudden sting I felt. My throat became dry and my whole body began to ache. I could physically feel my heart breaking. And for the millionth time since that dreadful December day I found myself wanting to dial his number. The only difference was that this time I did.