Ruin (boyxboy)

Stay

        People should just mind their own business. Right? I mean, how am I his problem?

-Alan-

 “Who the hell does he think he is?!” I yelled into the phone. I heard Uncle Jo sigh heavily on the other line.

 “He sounds like a nice young man, and he does have a point.”

 I wanted to throw something against the wall.

 I pulled out another pill and crunched it between my teeth. It was bitter, but I didn’t care. I needed to feel better. I mean, in theory I knew antidepressants weren’t supposed to be taken like that, but the placebo effect was enough for now.

 “Alan, he was being a good friend. You do tend to wear your emotions on your sleeve.”

 “I’ve known him for like a week! And what? He wants to save me? Help me? He’s only making things worse!”

 “How so?” Uncle Jo questioned “it seems that he’s ripping off the band-aid you’ve glued to your feelings. I’m no expert, but you can only function at the level you’ve been functioning at for so long. I allowed you to go to school four hours away so that you could have your freedom. Remember our agreement.”

 “Yeah, yeah.” I said as I sat on my bed, “Shape up or you ship out and pack my crap.”

 His chuckle calmed me. “Exactly. You haven’t dealt with your grief in a healthy way. You shouldn’t still be on antidepressants, you shouldn’t be so uptight. For God’s sake Alan, you’re eighteen!”

 “I’m ancient.”

 “You’re a kid.” I could just see him pacing the on the floorboards of the kitchen. “Live. Go have a beer - and only one. CHeat death, like they didn’t. Go streaking through your dorm. Do something. Anything’s better than sitting there and staring at the damned wall like you’ve been doing for the past two years.”

 “Have you been watching Dr. Phil or something?” I asked.

 “Maybe.” he laughed, “the point is, you have to live.”

 It was the first time someone had given me permission to do exactly that. I always felt like I had to suffer because they did. How stupid, right? But the human condition is stupid. We torture ourselves in order to feel better. That’s what I was doing.

 Torturing myself because it wasn’t fair.

 “Stop.” Uncle Jo growled.

 “What?”

 “Thinking.” he said

 “I’m not-”

 “You are.” with a sigh, he spoke low into the phone “Your parents would have wanted you to do crazy things. They took risks. You torturing yourself and being careful doesn’t protect you from the bad.”

 And we get to the heart of the matter.

 I was terrified. I felt like I had to control everything. If I controlled what I ate, what I wore, how I acted, who I spoke to, I could keep myself from the same fate.

 “They loved you.” he said forcefully.

 Words lodged in my throat.

 “They would want you to live.”

 I swallowed back the tears and emotions threatening to leave.

 “But what if I don’t live?” I could feel the darkness closing in, my throat closing up, “What if I die?” I whispered and put my head in between my knees. The doctor said anxiety was always a form of depression.