The Older We Get

Chapter 78

"Depression is like a war. You either win, or you die trying." -Unknown

-Half A Month Later-

"Oh my gosh, I love this song!" A girl with a pixie cut, who is blatantly 'wasted', smiles at her small group of friends as 'Wrecking Ball' starts to play, Reen's hand resting on the back of my head while I lean on the wall because she's 'wasted' too.

"This is your song Sage. You realize that right?" My best friend, the girl who's more or less gotten drunk with me every night since ages ago teases me about my ended relationship that still feels like it happened only an hour ago, and I realize the dreadful truth that she's right.

Miley Cyru's stupid song had finally become relatable, minus the nudity, hammer, and construction props.

I must have had at least 16 guys after me by now, my head's always either perplexed and dull or aching from hangovers and lack of proper nutrition.

I still don't know what I'm doing here. I think it's all doing its job, distracting, more or less, but for some reason it almost feels immune to me, like this pain that refuses to leave is impenetrable.

I'm stuck with it no matter what.

My days and nights have consisted of throwing up, crying myself to sleep, losing my job, barely talking to my parents, and not paying attention in class. I know better, I should act better, I should stop feeling nuts, but every time I try, the realization he's not on the other side of intoxication is what scares me away from being sober and in charge of my faculties.

This isn't me. This isn't the lifestyle I want. I could choose something better. I could talk myself into believing I'll get over this and love again, but I'm not there yet. I want to be there, that's at least a step up, but any happiness I get will just take an identity of being inadequate.

If I were acting like myself, if I were outside my body, watching what's been happening, how I sleep over at strangers houses on the floor amongst chips, red and blue cups and other people's bodies because the random group of people I came here with are too fvcked up to drive, I'd come right over and slap the absolute sh1t out of me.

I wish I would, but only if this would include giving me those several weeks back before Christmas.

"Reen, you want some?" A boy randomly walks up while I look to the side, drinking some beer and scanning the room when I catch a glimpse of a blonde smiling for my attention, his brown eyes immediately bothering me since one, they're not Chandler's blue eyes, and two, just because.

"Sage, you want some?" My classmate that's fine with indulging my destructive side lifts up some weed for me to smoke, her lips already heaving out some when I look at it a moment and smile. "Seriously? No? Again? You really wanna forget, you'll do it, you know."

"I don't want that." I'm not that far gone at least.

"Then fvck somebody will you? This is getting boring."

"I don't want that either."

"Oh no, just precious Chandler. Chandler, that 16 year old. It's kinda freaky you're lovesick over a little boy." Reen's brutality goes full force, and I find it rather hysterical that she can't find it in herself to encourage me to heal, but has no problem laying out the negatives in her eyes.