North and South of Happy

Chapter 1

Song for this chapter: High & Low- EZA 

I always thought I was an open person, sharing my emotions, thoughts and opinions with those around me, but I learned different by the ripe age of sixteen. It's easy to share what your feeling on the inside when all that exists is sunshine and blue skies; storm clouds and swirling hurricanes is a little different.

I, Dan Howell, am a lot of things, and sad just happens to be one of them. I don't quite understand the point of existence, specifically my own. I don't like the way I look or the way that my body has decided to operate. I don't like school, homework, teachers, or even most of the kids in my grade. I don't like hospitals, needles, doctors, or even any medical terms. I hate silence that is only filled with the worked sounds of my lungs, but I also despise any social interaction if it isn't with my close friends. I hate moths, trees, and the dark, yet I only seem to live at night. In summary, I hate a lot of things. The only things I don't really hate are the people sitting around me at this table, and the chocolate malt in my hand.

"Dan?" My friend Chris breaks me from my lost daze, "You in there?"

To my displeasure I end the staring contest I was having with the front bumper of PJ's car and turn back towards my friends to engage in conversation. The majority of the light-hearted group seems to be laughing at some cheesy pun Louise just made, with the exception of Phil. Looking around the table I take notice of the order of the seats, something only my brain would think to do. On my right is Chris, next to him is PJ, on the other side of PJ is Louise, and to my left is Phil. My eyes dropping onto Phil, I notice his wrinkled face and nervous eyes, "Are you okay Dan?" he asks under his breath so the others won't hear.

"Yeah, I'm fine." I blatantly lie.

But maybe it isn't that far from the truth. Anymore I feel as if I'm lost at sea, trapped between a coast of happiness and a coast of numbness. Most days I spend just off the coast of the numbness island, but when I'm with my friends I can use binoculars to see just the coast of "Okay" nation.

"Are you fine," Phil places air quotations around the word fine, and then drops his hands back to his lap, "Or are you actually feeling happy?"

When I really thought about Phil's question I decided to pull out the map. According to the nearly-impossible to navigate paper I was reaching the national waters of anxiety volcano. Even if I know that I'm not okay, should I really share this with Phil? Despite the fact that this emotional cruise around the troubling sea is nearly endless I decide that it wouldn't hurt to admit the truth to one of my best friends at least once. "Just feeling kind of nervous is all."

With my confession Phil looked up and peered around the table of our friends until settling his eyes back on me. Keeping his eyes trained on me, Phil began to reach the hand that wasn't holding his ice cream out to my free hand resting on my own leg. As Phil picked up my hand my heart began to race. Physical contact often intimidated me, and I began to wonder if Phil's intentions are going to be counterproductive.

"I hate Ms. Smith, she doesn't even teach us anything in that class," Phil and me's other friends continued on with their conversation, barely even paying attention to us two taller boys sitting across from them.

Phil's eyes met mine as if to say, "Is this okay?" and before I could think about it too much, I nodded my head. The soothing look of Phil's blue eyes allowed me to relax and squeeze Phil's hand back for reassurance.

This was okay.

Physical contact with one of your good friends is okay.

Relaxing into Phil's touch I felt his heart rate steady and my breathing even out. I released the tension from my shoulders and suddenly everything felt okay. No longer was I anxious for no apparent reason, I was sailing back towards the happiness resort found on "Okay" nation, and I think Phil could tell.