Bikes, Beaches and Afternoon Waffles

21 | Broken Hearts

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SONG FOR THE CHAPTER

❝ Land Locked Blues ❞ by Bright Eyes

OR

❝ Give Me Love ❞ by Ed Sheeran

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I haven't spoken to Casper in nearly a week. I haven't read, drawn, listened to music, or anything that brings me joy because the truth is those very miracles simply don't bring me joy anymore... I feel incredibly empty inside... almost as if I could reach into my chest and feel nothing there. After fleeing from the painting studio, ruining my first official date with Casper, and breaking any form of trust that we once shared, my heart seems to be completely and utterly hollow.

I'm not sad anymore... I'm numb, and somehow I know that numb is worse. Because no matter how hard I try, I can't seem to drag myself out of bed. I can't seem to scream or cry. I can't seem to do much of anything. I stopped eating. I stopped sleeping... Besides, all I have is nightmares.

There are memories I cannot forget and trauma I cannot heal and I guess I will always be broken. I'm not angry - truth be told - I'm not even upset. I have reached a form of apathetic acceptance. I have realized that life gets better just to get worse again.

Now I know what Kurt Cobain meant when he said "I miss the comfort of being sad" because I've felt sad for so long, when I'm not feeling sad I don't feel like I'm feeling anything at all.

I'm currently laying in my bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, pondering the meaning of life, and trying to find the smallest significance in mine. However, I just can't seem to find a reason. Therefore, I continue to dwell in my own misery and listen to the sound of my breathing because nowadays it's the only thing that lets me know I'm still alive.

Suddenly, I hear someone knock softly against my bedroom door. Susan cracks the door open somewhat and then whispers to me with a kind and tender voice, "Hey, sweetie. Can I come in?" I don't bother to reply. I couldn't even if I wanted to. My throat is dry and my voice is weak. However, Susan still enters my room and places herself at the edge of my bed. With her lips pressed into a thin smile, she sighs and then whispers again, "Dinner is ready."

I roll over and curl into the fetal position, "I'm not hungry."

"I know, but you need to eat something," she insists kindly.

Eventually, Susan coaxes me into joining her and Robert downstairs for dinner. I sit down at the kitchen table and stare at my plate. My stomach grumbles with hunger, but I just can't seem to bring myself to eat. Instead, I slump in my seat and poke my fork at the food idly. Susan and Robert glance at each other, unsure of what to say. The tension in the room is so dense that it's almost suffocating. I should have stayed in my bedroom.

Robert clears his throat and attempts to initiate conversation, "Pamela called today..." he begins carefully, "She is concerned about you."

"As are we," Susan adds, "However, she said that your depression might simply be a side effect of your medication and that perhaps with a different prescription and more therapy sessions-"

I interrupt weakly, "I don't want to see Pamela anymore..."

They look at each other uncertainly for a moment. They seem quite stunned by my comment. Susan's eyebrows furrow with confusion before she asks, "Why not?"