Twenty Øne Reasons to Live

Chapter Eight

My Point of View 

The small room was silent now other than my slight whimpering and Josh's occasional sniff. "I thought she was getting better, Josh," I sputtered, and gasped for air. He put an arm around me and I laid my head on his shoulder, and continued to bawl my eyes out. 

"I know you did." 

"Why am I even here?"

"Because...... You have the weight of the whole world on your shoulders. That's not fair for all that burden to be on one person. You couldn't bottle it up anymore. So, you came to me. And that's okay." 

"But I am so much better than this!" I insisted. 

"Hey, just 'cause you needed someone to listen for once does not make you weak, Kid. It makes you strong." 

I sat back up, and wiped my face, but it didn't do much. The tears I wiped away were just as quickly replenished. "No it doesn't. I don't need anyone. I've never needed-" 

"I don't doubt it. You're one tough son of a gun, Kid. And I know you don't need anyone. But just because you had to let something out doesn't mean you're weak. It means you are strong enough to come to someone else and tell them you aren't feeling good. That takes a lot of courage, and to me, that's the very definition of strength. " 

"I don't tell people stuff, Josh. That isn't how I let things out." 

He sighed. "I know it isn't. You cut, don't you?" 

I stiffened. I know I just showed him all my scars, but there was something about the direct confrontation on the subject that shut me down entirely. 

Glancing at him, I bit my lip, and started to say, "I don't know what I'm doing here." I pushed myself up. 

His voice (which had some traces of anger in it) stopped me. "Yeah, well I do." I faced him, stunned. "And you're going to come to the green room with me and you're going to have some coffee and hang out with me and Tyler. Because I'm not going to do this 'every time you see me you hate me ten minutes later because Josh screwed up again' thing. Yeah, I screw up, Kirsten. Because I'm human. I am trying to be your friend, but you won't let me and that's really frustrating because I'm trying. I am really, really trying." 

Pity attacked my heart. A small, weak smile tugged at my lips and I replied in a hushed tone. "I know you are. I just don't know if I can trust it." 

He half-frowned, then turned around and advanced up the stairs. I waited a few beats, then followed him. 

"Josh?" my voice echoed. He didn't stop. "Josh wait." 

He must of heard the tone in my voice, because he stopped and turned to look at me. "What?" 

I sighed, before beginning. "I have a disorder called Alexithymia. It inhibits my ability to feel emotions corre- like other people. It affects positive emotions the most. Less than ten percent of the population have this disorder and what do you know, I'm one of the lucky ducks." 

"Why are you telling me this?" he asked, and I could tell he wasn't upset, but rather touched, I guess? Touched and confused. His voice came out rough, unbelieving. I'm just that much of a closed book that whenever you get a glimpse into my chapters you have to regroup for a few moments. 

"I'm telling you this because you need to know that I don't hate you. I also have a disorder called Paranoid Personality Disorder. Trusting doesn't come easily to me because of it. My 'trust chemicals' are not where they should be inside my brain. I never really fully trust anyone. I don't hate you, I just don't comprehend emotions well. And I can't trust you because of PPD."