Gone (Scomiche)

Depression

Believe it or not, I was depressed for a little while. Clinically depressed. But I was doing okay.

I know, who thought such a happy person as me could be so depressed? Well it happened. I kept dwelling in my past with bullying and such and I started to think nobody liked me. My bed was starting to be the only place I felt comfortable, and I stopped taking my medication. I wouldn't get out of bed at all after a while. Scott had never been nosy. He never asked why I wouldn't get out of bed or why he brought me food I barely ate. But soon enough I could tell it was too much. I was sleeping just to pass the time. I felt more annoying to him than ever which pushed me into a deeper depression. The last thing I wanted to do was annoy Scott. And here I was feeling like the most irritating person on the planet simply because he brought me a sandwich I hadn't asked for. He set it in front of me, but I didn't touch it. I wasn't hungry.

"Mitch?" He inquired cautiously.

I looked at him, my eyes with bags under them, looking sad. I didn't intend to, but since I hadn't gotten out of bed, that's how I looked. I hadn't tried to clean myself up in weeks. The only response I gave him was looking up.

"What happened to you?" He asked, his eyes gleaming with concern.

God I was the most terrible boyfriend, wasn't I? Seven months into our relationship and I go and get depressed. We hadn't been out on a date in two months. Two. Months. Because I turned him down every single time. Again, great boyfriend.

I cleared my throat a little. Depression isn't cute, I'm not cute. "What do you mean?"

I knew what he meant.

"I mean... I um... nevermind. Enjoy your sandwich." He began to walk out.

"Wait, Scott. Come back."

He turned around and sat on the edge of my bed.

"Mitch, I'm just worried about you."

I looked down at my hands, tangling them in the blanket nervously. Just above a whisper I replied, "I know."

"What can I do to help you? I'll do anything to see you smile again."

"That's just it," I sighed. "I'm disappointing you. I keep thinking if I stay in my room, I can't annoy you, but I'm just annoying you more." Depression isn't cute.

I couldn't stand to look at his face, but he didn't respond for a long time. And when he did, it sounded like a mixture of appalled and hurt.

"You've been staying in bed because you think you annoy me?"

I nodded. "Scott, my depression is because I feel like nobody likes me. Bullying kind of messed me up. And now annoying you has added to that, where I dont want to get out of bed. At all."

"But Mitch..." he sounded on the verge of tears. "I love you."

Now I really couldn't look at him. He scooted closer to me and ran his fingers through my tangled hair. I shook my head.

"Scott, you could just be saying that."

He was offended. "You think I'd lie about loving you? I love you more than life. I love you with my whole heart and soul. I'd do anything for you. Hell, I'd put a bullet in my head if you told me to. I'd die for you. I can't believe you think I'm pretending to love you."

I expected him to leave, but he didnt. He stayed right where he was, demanding a response with his silence.

The tears came all at once. "I'm sorry, Scott. I'm sorry I'm depressed. I'm sorry I thought you might not love me. I'm sorry I'm such a bad boyfriend. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, and I could say it a million more times, but it wouldnt change the fact of how sorry I am for existing."

I could feel his eyes on me. I glanced up at him, my face tear stained and burning red. It looked like someone had just stabbed him in the heart. That's how hurt he looked. "You are the most beautiful person on this earth, Mitchell Coby Michael Grassi and it hurts me so so so so much when you say things like that. I love you so much. I cant describe it, Mitch. I can't. I can't express it enough. And it kills me."

He took his sleeve and wiped the tears starting to make their way down his cheeks. I didn't have a reply to that. I picked up the sandwich and set it on the nightstand. Then I moved over so there was room for him to lay down if he wanted. He did. He laid on his back, staring at the ceiling. Depression isn't cute. It hurts the people around you, too. I was scared to touch him, but at the same time, that's all I wanted to do. I wanted to comfort him and tell him I'd be alright. I wanted to tell him to hold me and never let go. I wanted to tell him how much he meant to me. But I didn't. I waited for him to make the first move. My heart was beating so fast, I could hear it in my ears. Ten minutes passed in silence before Scott rolled over and took me in his arms. I had been silently crying the whole time, but this actually made me cry harder. I curled right into his chest and cried. I sobbed. He held me the whole time. I soaked his shirt, but he obviously didn't mind. Why does this feel so nice if depression isn't cute? Because he's comforting me. Depression itself isn't cute. Scott's cute. And he would still be cute if I didn't have depression.

"Mitch?" He said when I stopped crying.

"Yeah?"

"Can you promise me something?"

"Anything."

"You'll get up tomorrow and we'll get through this together?"

I hesitated. That meant I had to get up, shower, get dressed, get caught up on everything I had missed. But that meant I'd have a life. I'd have my life back. And that was exciting. "Okay." I wish I didn't have depression. Depression sucks.

He rubbed my back. "I just need you to be happy."

I pulled away from him a little. "I will be. I'm with you. A boy who loves me."

He kissed my forehead. "Forever and always."