-yet to be titled-

Bipolar Disorder

•Saturday, 11/25
Lilly: HEYOOOO.                            -11:30am
Gabbie: hey what's up.                   -1:54pm
Lilly: Are you okay? You've been kind of distant lately I just wanna check up on you buddy.
Gabbie: yeah I'm good.                   -5:23pm
Lilly: okay... are you sure? I know it's that time of year for you. And I know it can't help with everything that's been going on with Maria. I'm here for you if you need me. Don't hesitate to call
•Sunday, 11/26
Gabbie: whatever.                           -2:38am

12/4
Dreaming. I'm dreaming. But here I am sitting in this damn plastic chair writing this damn paper about the effects of mental illness for this damn health class.
"Did you know depression can even effect your day to day activities, such as bathing or eating?" No shit.
I smell awful. I haven't showered in god knows how long. I can't remember the last time I kept a meal down. I can't sleep. I can't physically force myself to sleep. And my mom won't let me take NyQuil for it. Wonder why.
Im going quiet again. All I feel is angry inside. Angry at Maria, angry at Lilly, angry at this damn heath class, angry at heel-toe marching, angry at God or the universe or whoever the hell is in charge.
Angry at myself.
It doesn't even hurt when I'm criticized anymore. It doesn't hurt when Lilly runs past me in the hallway to Mitch. It doesn't hurt when I see that I'm failing all of my classes. Again.
I just feel numb. I feel as if I'm in a constant state of dream. Like I'm floating through life behind a shield that absorbs human emotion. Part of me wants to feel pain but with pain comes pleasure. And with pleasure, disappointment. It's not worth it, better to feel nothing. Looking over and being looked over. Being pushed through the motions. Again and again.
I can't take it. I feel like I'm sinking again. I don't know the answer to my question and I don't know how to find it. Mom is starting to worry. She wants me to see my therapist again.
"Gabbie! Let's get a move on, that paper won't write itself. Let's not have another missing assignment please." Barely registering, I glance sidelong expecting a sneer or a smirk but... Maria just looks sad. If I were crazy I'd say almost... sympathetic. No. Not a chance.
Not long after, the bell rings to dismiss us. Rising slowly, not mentally ready for my body to be moving, I grab my stuff and head for the door.
"Wait a second, Gabbie." I stop. Ms. Shay is the exact definition of a soccer mom. An obviously dyed and highlighted brown bob. Always dressed in a jumper that accentuates her late forties "I make cookies for my 4 kids and eat half of them" chub. She probably always drinks red wine at night while she stalks her ex husbands Facebook page. "Hey. You have to start turning in assignments. You're failing and pretty soon it will be too late to get your grade up to passing before the class ends. I don't know what's going on with you, but it needs to stop. You come in here and either sleep or stare at the floor. You don't use any of your class time to work. It's like you were replaced with a zombie. If things don't improve I'm going to have to call your parents in."
"I'm sorry" I hear myself say, "things are just rough right now."
"I'm not your therapist, I'm your teacher. I don't need to know that. Get these assignments in before Friday." She says shoving a grade report in my hands, marked every other line with highlighter.
Will do.
I turn, barely catching the whisp of blonde hair and blue eyes that bolts out the door.
Maria doesn't show up for band.