The boy in the window

Funny how things change

Continued.....

Honey, I have to tell you something really important. You should sit down."

I sat down in the chair next to my mom as she turned her chair to face me and gently held my hands in her lap.

"You know how I've been out of the house a lot lately?"

I nodded.

"Well sweetheart, I haven't been running errands. I've been getting tests. Lots and lots of tests."

"What kind of tests?" I asked. "What for?"

"Well I've been having trouble breathing and my chest has been hurting a lot and they looked at my cat scan photos today. They found many spots on my lungs. Baby, I have lung cancer."

"Wha-WHAT!?! NO! YOU CAN'T!!! THEY CAN GET RID OF IT RIGHT!! THEY HAVE A WAY TO FIX THIS!?!" I yelled I horror.

She slowly shook her head no.

"Does this mean your gonna..."

She nodded.

"Yeah. Yeah..."

I cried hard.

"Ho-how long?" I questioned.

"2 and a half to 3 months."

I broke down. I hugged my mom tight and we hugged for a strait hour and cried, and cried, and cried.

.......

Later that night, around 8 or so, I texted Chandler and asked him if he was coming back over.

He said that he wasn't home and he was gone to a stupid thing at his moms work.

So I wasn't going to be able to talk to him except over text.

My mom was gone to bed and Ella was packing boxes.

So I sat there, alone, thinking about my mess of a life.

Where would I go when my mom is gone? I have no relatives that I know of other than my father but I don't know where he is.

Who would I have to talk to with no best friend? Chandler is there but there is certain things that you don't want to talk about with your boyfriend.

My TV was off and I was crying. I had no one to talk to and I was in so much pain.

Sure I had a boyfriend but I was losing my moral support and everlasting best friend being my mom and my best friend who was my sidekick. my sister. being Ella.

I went into my bathroom in the feeling of having to throw up, as I did.

I stood up and looked myself in the mirror.

My eyes slipped down to a razor sitting on the edge of the sink.

I sat on the toilet seat, grabbing the razor.

I stared at it for a second before disabling it and taking out the blade.

I looked at the blade and played with it for a minute in my fingers.

It was very sharp since the razor was only used once.

I looked at my wrist then at the blade again.

I put the blade to my skin and prepared to pull.

I wimped out and dropped the blade on the floor and broke out in tears.

I don't know why, but I couldn't do it. I just couldn't.

I picked up the blade and wrapped it well in tissue and stuck in under my mattress.

I don't know why I kept it but I did.

This was the beginning of my own personal great depression.