Depression (COMPLETED)

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I woke-up the next morning in somebody's arms. My curtains were closed, but daylight was flooding into the room, giving my skin a sparkly impression.

I am no longer leaning against my bedroom door, and I am no longer wearing my school uniform. Instead I was in my pyjamas, in my bed.

I turned around slightly and saw that the person whose arms I was lying in were Barclay's.

My heart stopped beating and I was having trouble breathing. Why was he here? Why did I let him in? Why was he asleep in my bed? Why does he even care?

Barclay must have sensed that I had woken-up, since his beautiful eyes fluttered open and looked straight into mine. "Emily please don't hate me." He whispered, no, he pleaded.

"I... What?" I managed to whisper. I don't remember anything from last night. I don't know how he ended up in my bed, I don't even remember how I fell asleep in his arms.

"Last night your sister was worried about you and called me. I told her that you probably didn't want to see me, but she insisted that I come, so I drove over around eight pm. You were half asleep on the floor and your eyes were swollen so I guess you had been crying. I picked you up and carried you over to your bed, I was about to leave when you asked me to stay, so I did." Barclay explained.

"Please leave." I begged in a small voice, turning away from him. I squeezed my eyes shut and forced myself not to cry.

"Please Emily, don't do this. You know that I love you, and that I will always love you, and only you." He pleaded, sitting up.

"What about Harper?" I whispered. Even despite my attempt to keep tears from forming, the fluids in my eyes started spilling out. Why is he doing this to me? He is lying, I know it.

"Harper made it all up Emily. I swear on everything that I have that there is nothing going on between us, there never was and there never will be. I have no feelings for her whatsoever. I admit she came up to me in the showers and she wanted us to have sex, but I refused because I love you and because I would never, never ever cheat on you." Barclay said, lying back down and hugging me from behind.

"But you were kissing." I mumbled. Why does he insist on doing this to me? He knows I am weak and he knows I am vulnerable. Does he mistake me for a fool? I saw them, I saw them snogging in the corridor.

"She attacked me Emily. I was coming to find you when she just started kissing me." Barclay explained softly. "I would never do that to you." He finished, hugging me even tighter.

"Why?" I interrogated.

"Why what?" Barclay hummed.

"Why do you love me? I'm nothing compared to Harper. I'm not pretty, I'm not sexy. I'm constantly in a bad mood, I push everyone I love about away from me, and I'm just depressing to be around."

"You see, that is why I love you. You always say what is on your mind, and you are always honest even if it's not in your benefit." Barclay whispered. Tears are streaming down my face and I turned around in his arms, so that I was facing him again. I buried my face in his chest and wrapped my arms tightly around his body. Barclay's arms re-wrapped around my shaking body as he pulled me even closer to him.

Is it sad that I should be happy, when actually I've never felt worse?

Is it painful to hear that sometimes I wonder if I will ever be happy with myself, and that I constantly worry that if I can't be happy with myself, then nobody will ever be happy with me, and that just makes me more paranoid. It's a cycle, insecurity, unconfined and diffidence. It's a big, deadly cycle that is little by little, piece by piece destroying me.

Is it tragic that yesterday I realize how little I meant to people, and that nothing will change if and when I am no longer of this world? They will just go on with their lives and act like I was never here.

Is it miserable that I've just realized that I'm tired of crying? I'm tired of yelling, I'm tired of being sad, I'm tired of pretending, I'm tired of being alone, I'm tired of being angry, I'm tired of feeling crazy, I'm tired of feeling stuck, I'm tired of needing help, but not admitting it. I'm tired of remembering, tired of missing things, tired of being different, tired of feeling worthless and tired of feeling empty inside. I'm tired of not ever being able to let go and I'm tired of wishing that I can just start again. I'm tired of dreaming of a life I will never have, but most of all I'm just tired of being tired.

Is it sad that I hurt and I cry but no one can ever see the depression in my eyes because they associate my pain with the death of my Mum, when actually it's something much deeper, something much darker.

Isn't it wonderful that I have finally found the source of my pain, and now I can do something about it? That I can disappear and let everyone pretend that I was never born, that I never even existed.

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Chapter 5 here for you, and it is another complety new chapter. 

I know it is short and took a long time, but it was so hard to write because I could never get the right degree of emotion across. 

Image of Edward Jones, (played by George Clooney), in the media along with Six Degrees of Separation by the Script.

I hope you enjoyed.