The Moments

Chapter Twenty-Three

JORDAN WILLS

Three days until the funeral and I am so lost.

It's weird when I have a moment that death isn't the only thing on my mind. I honestly didn't think it was possible. My life is calamity, just like that, plain and simple. Destruction follows me, bounds itself to me, and continuously tightens it's grip. I can't escape it, I promised not to. I'm supposed to be facing it, but when the moments come that I feel somewhat okay, that I am distracted and have the elusive chance to not think about the tragedy, I drown in them, those fleeting instances of peace. Distractions are like a drug these days, anything that can draw my mind away from how much things suck is a gift. And I know I shouldn't just be distracting myself and blocking out the world, but for now, its the only way I know how to survive.

Maybe that's why my attitude going into therapy today is so bad. Because I have found a not-so-healthy, but effective, way to cope. Don't get me wrong, I'm not in denial or anything. I know the stages of grief and I've tried to recognize them in myself, but it's weird. I think I went through most of them before Madelyn was even gone. Because I knew she was leaving, I had time to deny, and bargain, and whatever. But it's like I said before, it didn't make it any easier. And now I have found that the best way to drown out the pain of missing her is to simply take my mind off of it. That isn't denial, it's just the bliss of ignorance. "Ignorance is bliss", a phrase I have discredited, but also found a trace of reality in. I know she is gone and I know I want to die because of that. I don't pretend it didn't happen, I don't battle with my mind not to think about it, like I did with my dad. It's not like that. It's just that I know I will spend the rest of my life facing things and coping, and sometimes I'd like to just block it all out and remind myself what it's like to be carefree.

Today is a day that I'd rather block it out, but here I am, on the couch in my least favorite room in the world.

"How are you today?" Dr. Moore inquires.

"Better, I guess."

My voice is slow, I hear that's a symptom of depression, talking slowly. I think she picks up on it. I kind of hope she does.

"That's good to hear. How did you feel about the group?"

The group was okay, honestly. I almost, kind of liked it. I might even return, but I wish it was just a bunch of teens, no therapist leading. I don't know, environments where I know nobody is going to call the cops and/or my mom are just more comfortable to me.

"It was nice. I saw a friend there and we got lunch afterwards," is how I respond instead of telling her what I'm thinking.

I knew saying that would make her happy, a smile spreads across her face and she looks very pleased. I used to like pissing her off, but now I just don't understand why. Upsetting people isn't fun to me anymore, I don't think it ever really was. I think I was just so caught up in the idea of being a rebellious teen that I lost sight of the fact that I just prefer for people not to hate me.

"That's lovely," she beams. "How was the lunch?"

To be honest, it was boring and awkward, but it was one of those god given distractions I mentioned before, so it was pretty lovely. Plus I got to catch up with Lisa which made me feel fractionally better about being such a shitty friend.

I don't think I ever would have talked to her again if it wasn't for Nick's death, which is hard to admit because it feels like I am recognizing positive effects of his suicide. Usually, when somebody dies, we are instructed to do just that, recognize how that death has brought us together or taught us to appreciate life. But it's different when somebody kills themselves. It feels wrong for there to be any good things that come out of a suicide, it feels like validating their reasons or appreciating their choice. So I don't know how to feel about Nick's death leading to my reigniting a friendship, but I do know that the thought alone is making it awfully hard to enjoy spending time with Lisa.