Out of This World

Chapter Eight

I could feel myself getting bad again. Everything was hazy. I could only half-focus on the words Toby said to me as we paced the hallway, and I couldn't focus at all on anything I thought. I kept taking the pills they gave me, praying that they'd do something about my head. But nothing worked.

It was weird. For the first time, I wanted them to work. I wanted to really, truly feel better. Be better.

Even though it was all I knew, I didn't want my default emotion to be depression anymore.

Lying in bed, I knew I was getting my hopes up for no reason. No matter what I wanted, there was only one outcome.

I hadn't gotten out of bed in two days. I took the meds they brought me on a silver platter, and I ignored the knocks I heard on my door every hour like clockwork. I knew they were from him, and I wanted to let him in, but I had forgotten how to speak.

I didn't know how to make the choice to tell him or not, to tell Toby that I was terrified that the future was just going to go up in flames because I was too sick.

Two more days later, he made that choice for me.

"Does this make you happy? Pretending like you don't exist?"

"No," I whispered, not sure I could be any louder, "but it distracts me from the sadness. I'm drowning in it."

"It's not like you're in an ocean," Toby joked, trying to lighten the mood.

"You don't need water to drown."

"Geez, dramatic much? What are you so goddamn sad about?" I could tell he was getting annoyed.

I could tell he was beginning to think that I was exhausting.

Well, get in line.

"The future, Toby. I'm sad about it."

"Why do you worry so much about the future? Who's to say there will be a future? We could all die today by some meteor taking out the earth, and then you're going to regret spending so much time worried instead of taking risks and doing what makes you feel like a person."

"Really, Toby? We're sitting in a psych ward and you think the thing that's gonna take us out is a meteor? Did you forget why we're here? We're the meteors."

"That's right, you do want to set the world on fire."

"It already is."

Toby laughed. I wasn't sure what I expected, but it wasn't that.

"What the hell," I said, sitting up in bed and turning to look at him.

I was shocked. I wasn't the only one getting bad.

Toby looked more hollow than even just a few days before. His hair was in his face even more than usual, his jacket seemed to hang on him bigger than ever, and he was leaning against the doorway as if he couldn't stand up without it not unlike the first time we had met.

"What the hell..." I said again, but this time about him.

"I was going to say the same thing," he replied, a cold look on his face.

"I'm tired. Leave me alone."

I tried to act like I didn't notice anything was different. For once, I needed the conversation to stay on me. Otherwise he'd notice that I was scared about what he was doing.

"Everyone's tired, Mars. But we get out of bed anyways. Come on, we're going to be late for group, and I'm getting annoyed sitting there alone."

He started to walk away, but stopped when he noticed that I wasn't following him. Instead, I laid back down and pulled the blanket over my head.

"You keep acting like you're going to save me, Toby, and I don't like it." I spoke to the wall, because I wasn't able to say this and face him at the same time. "Because the truth is, you're not. You can't just come into my space and all of a sudden make everything better for me. I don't know you, and you don't know me, yet you're acting as if you know the meaning of life and that you can take away all the bad parts of me."

"Why do you think I can't?" he asked. I didn't look, but I was almost positive I could sense popping the collar on his denim jacket and smirking.

"Because every part of me is a bad part," I sighed, "and it's foolish of you to think otherwise. Sometimes I wonder if how I am right now, is okay as I'm gonna get."

"Isn't that okay, though?" Toby asked, "isn't it better than your bottom?"

He had a point. I wasn't anywhere near where I was starting to want to be, but I was out of bed for more than an hour every day now. That was something, I guessed.

"You don't get it, Toby. You don't understand what I mean when I say I'm tired. It isn't something I can just sleep away. You don't understand that I'm completely and hopelessly drained of everything good, everything that makes me able to get out of bed in the morning. I'm tired of waking up and seeing the same four walls every day. I'm tired of only going outside at schedule times, eating at scheduled times, and going to bed at scheduled times. I'm tired of taking pills morning and night and waiting around to see if they work this time.I'm tired of the simplest things, like tying my shoes and drinking water. I'm tired of waking up in the middle of the night and feeling utterly alone, even when there's someone lying next to me. I'm tired of breathing. I'm tired of being. I'm tired of living. I'm tired of trying to not be so damn tired anymore."