Double Disposition

Chapter 1

​I woke up in a pool of sweat and a beating heart. Panting, trying to catch my breath. It has happened again. I have had the same damn dream for weeks. I'm not even sure what it means, but the same thing happens each time. Most of it is a blur, and the parts I cannot see, I can barely hear.
I am in the dream, but I can also see myself from above, like I am watching myself acting in a movie. Two people arguing in the bedroom; throwing things, breaking glass. I hide under the kitchen table because for some reason I am afraid of whoever is inside of that room. Someone shouts my name Orion, sirens blare in the distance. And then I wake up.

This is routine now. I keep thinking it would mean something, but it never seems to. I guess this is just another side effect of my 'condition', my mother calls it. I was diagnosed with bipolar depression a couple of months ago. My grandfather passed away from a brain aneurism, and it really took a toll on my life. I mean, I know I've been sad, but having a scientific name for my 'condition' makes me sound like some kind of freak.

I've started taking olanzapine and every Tuesday and Thursday, I attend support groups. Monday through Thursday, I have tutors; my mother decided it was best that I be home schooled until I 'get better'. But we all know the truth. I'm not going to just get better. Depression can never be fully treated and it's not some kind of disease that can be cured with powder in a capsule. I'm going to end up hanging from my ceiling fan with a rope around my neck. At least that's what TV shows people with depression as. But that's not what it really is. I wish people knew that. I wish my mother knew that.

I glance at my clock '9:00AM'. I guess this means I should get up now before my mother thinks that I OD'd again and don't wake up. I overdosed on my meds two weeks ago, ever since then my mother has been on my case even more than usual. But it wasn't because I wanted to die. I took more pills than prescribed because I thought if I took more; it would help me heal quicker. Depressed people don't ultimately want to die; they want the pain to stop.
I brush my teeth with the lights off. I don't like looking at myself in the mirror because I hate what I see. It would be better if I just took out the light bulbs altogether, but my mother would throw a fit. In case you were wondering, I have chalky white pale skin, dark brown hair, and ice blue eyes. I am tall and lanky and wear 90's band t-shirts that tumblr girls nowadays buy generically at forever21. As you can see, I'm not the most appealing guy to girls. Which bring us back to not having lights.

"You're late." Everly, my mom, says sternly
"Two minutes, it's no big deal. Katherine isn't even here yet." I say, taking a bite of jelly toast and sitting at the kitchen table. Katherine was my tutor, she came four times a week, leaving me the rest of my days doing homework and studying. Which, of course, I never actually did.

"You ought to start getting your shit together, Orion. You hear me?"
I took a sip of orange juice, ignoring her.
"This isn't easy for me either, you know?" tears were in her eyes now, "I only do this to try and help you. Now, I'm sorry I'm not sure exactly how to help you, but I'm doing everything I can. I don't want you to end up like-"she paused
"Like who?" I asked
"..Never mind, just finish your breakfast, I hear Katherine pulling up to the driveway now. "

After Katherine left, it was time to go to my support group. I hated my life at the moment. Every day, robotically the same exact thing. I was sleepwalking through life day by day, and I felt like nobody seemed to notice. I wasn't 100% sure on why I was feeling this way, but I could just feel a giant black raincloud hovering over me, following my every move. Some days; I call them the good days, the cloud moved away, and I could see the sun. But most, it was cold as ice.

I scribbled my name in the sign in sheet Orion Steele. But something caught my eye; a new name I had never heard before. Brielle Merrick. It was a beautiful name in itself, but the way it was handwritten was mesmerizing. I suddenly got a hold of myself and thought about what I was thinking. How could handwriting attract me? I really was fucked up in the head. I shrugged and continued to walk towards the room.

I had never really had much interest in the support groups. I found them stupid anyway. Just a bunch of screwed up kids in a room together being forced to talk about the things they never want to speak about. It was mental execution. I never paid attention and mostly spaced out or stared out the window until it was over. But not today. For the first time in awhile, my cloud moved away. And every day after that.