Gone (Ianthony)

Three Months, One Week, Two Days, and Seven Hours Before

Anthony:     

Isn't it funny how one split second can completely shatter the world we know?

For me, it would have to be when I was seven years old and I caught my dad kissing some woman I'd never seen in his room after I'd gotten out of school early one day. I was only seven and I didn't really understand exactly what was going on and what was going to happen after I told my mom, but that was the only moment until five months ago that I really knew something bad was happening and that it was just the beginning of a long, dreadful hell.

Needless to say, I told my mom, and there was a lot of fighting that night. I sat in my room while they screamed at each other downstairs, covering my ears and head with my blanket, softly crying and wishing I was anywhere but home. And in the weeks to come, my dad moved out, and I saw him every once and a while in the years to come, but for the most part, he was out of my life. 

Up until five months ago, that was the worst moment of my life.

But after the night Ian walked in way later than I'd planned, crying his eyes out and trembling worse than I'd ever seen any human tremble before, there are multiple moments that give the Cheating Incident a run for its money.

First of all, the night he came home trembling.

I've blocked a lot of it out by now. Erased it from my memory. It's one of those events I never ever want to think about again, but no matter what I do, it eats away at my mind until I'm forced to think about it and then it's hard to breathe and my hands go numb and I can't move. It's like a dry-erase board: even after wiping away all the marks, there's always a few little streaks that stain the white surface that can't disappear unless you break out some of that heavy-duty cleaner and scrub at it for a while. It's like that. No matter how much I strive to forget, some of it can't be erased.

Second: the day after he came home trembling. When we were forced to leave the house and go on with our lives like nothing had happened, talking to our friends we didn't want to tell and doing our work we didn't want to do.

Until that day, I had no idea how hard it truly was to act happy when all you wanted to do was lay in bed and cry and stare up at the ceiling and wonder what you did to make God hate you so much. We were asked so many times that day what was wrong and if we were okay and the amount of times I said "Yeah, we're just tired" was really unbelieveable. I mean, I wasn't even there for It and dear God Ian had it so much worse than me and I had no idea how I made it through that day, so I'm sure you can only imagine what he was going through.

And lastly, three days ago. When Ian told me I could move out and away and he would be fine without me.

That day is probably in first place so far.

"Hey, Anthony?"

"Yeah, Ian?"

"I just wanted to tell you that you don't have to live here anymore. You don't have to make me meals I won't eat and give me pills I pretend to take half the time and put up with my bullshit anymore. I want you to leave. I want you to be happy. You're not happy with some psychotic bastard who never eats and takes pills six times a day and goes to therapy three times a week. You don't have to put up with me, you know."

"Ian, you listen to me. I will never, ever leave this house. I will never stop making you meals even if you don't eat them and giving you pills even if you don't take them and I will never stop putting up with your bullshit. I don't think you realize that I'm only happy when I'm with you. I don't care that you're sad a lot and don't talk much anymore and spend a lot of time in your room - I'm your best friend and I don't care how many pills you take, I will never leave this house. Okay?"

"Okay."

But he wasn't convinced.

I saw him once yesterday, over dinner. He ate one taco and didn't say much.

"Therapy was fine."

"I'm just tired."

"Yeah, I'll remember to take the Prozac."     

I heard him vomit the taco up later.

Other than that, I didn't see him all day. Before he was awake, I spent the morning in a meeting, trying to figure out how we would distribute the Smosh money we had saved up over the years and how long before we would approximately be out and have to find other ways to make money. We had quite a bit left over and would be fine for a while, but money goes fast. Especially when you don't have jobs.

We ended Smosh shortly over the night he came home trembling just because Ian was so traumatized he couldn't even work. Before he started going to therapy and got pills and got a little better, he really couldn't do anything. He just sat in his room all day, his covers pulled up to his chest and his mind racing. And no matter what I did, I couldn't help.

Anyways, after I got home, he had his door locked and didn't say anything when I knocked. And then he had therapy and I went to the store and right after dinner he was in his room again. He said thirteen words to me today. And that's more than usual.

The good thing is, he should have a Rise soon. That's what Dr. Paxon, his main doctor that perscribes him anti-depressants and sleeping pills and therapists, calls the random weeks where he's really, really bad for a while and then just randomly gets really happy for a few days. And every time I get my hopes up, thinking maybe soon he can stop therapy and ditch the pills and be my best friend again, but then a few days later, his door is locked again.

But I have a feeling about the next Rise. Something tells me something's going to change. He's been extra, extra bad lately, and that only means he can have an extra Rise.

Right?