~ Broken Crayons Still Color~
Mariella Bonavento's life was perfect.
She had the perfect life, the perfect house, the perfect school, the perfect friends.
Her life was, by definition, perfect.
Until the most unexpected happens and her perfect lif...
|| We promise forever in a world where even life is temporary ||
- Anonymous
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Depression. The silent killer. Not cancer or heart attacks or freak accidents. Depression.
One word. Three syllables.
I had learned over the past month that depression is such a funny and peculiar thing. One that breathes you in like a lover and slowly takes over your life without permission. It puts you in this silent pain that makes you feel like you are dying on the inside and makes you too weak to say anything.
It's that heavy feeling of hands around your throat and not being able to breathe, even when there is an oxygen mask glued to your face. Depression. Shit sucks.
"So, Mari right?"
I observed the man in front of me. Thick black-rimmed glasses were pushed too high on the bridge of his crooked nose and his eyes were focused on the paper in his lap. His notes. Not a single therapist I had gone to didn't take a wild amount of notes on me.
He tapped his pen against the side of his leather chair, waiting for my mouth to open and for me to magically start spewing about all my problems. I suddenly felt nauseous. I continued to stare at him.
I read somewhere that in Japan, depression is described as "Kokoro no Kaze"— a cold of the soul. Maybe that was why I couldn't seem to find warmth in even the simplest of things anymore.
"Mariella" I gave him no more than the simple pronunciation of my name, hoping he could figure out how to spell it. Mariella. A simple, Italian rooted name. I hoped he didn't ask me where it came from.
"Alright, Mariella," He finally looked up at me, his chapped lips moving as he finally pronounced my name correctly.
My leg bounced up and down, my body shaking with each little anxious movement. Restless leg syndrome- My very first diagnosis. I could have told therapists that without an hour-long survey.
"How are you feeling today?" I looked away. I hated this question. I hated being here. "Fine," I whispered, my right hand finding my left blindly as my fingers wrapped around the little black band and pulling it back. A snap filled the room.
Then another.
Then another.
I could feel his heavy stare. "You don't seem fine." From the corner of my eye, I watched him place his one leg over the other, the pen clicking in his hand. "Tell me what is making you so anxious." His voice rang through the tiny cell-like room, making it feel smaller than it was already.
He asked again but I seemed to tune out, my eyes focusing in on the pretty, intricate frames behind him. Two pieces of paper were stuck in them, both with a red seal of some sort, showing off his credentials. I eyed them with dull brown eyes, maybe if I stared long enough our time would go faster.
