⚜Ex Nihilo Nihil Fit⚜

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  I had lost Mika, and, until a few months ago, I was convinced he was dead. Gone from the world.

So, with this thought on my brain at all times, you can imagine how much his disappearance impacted little eleven- year old me. I have noticed that I mention losing Mika when I was twelve. I didn't. My mind... Keeps mixing it up. He was twelve. I was eleven, and my birthday was a month after his.

A month after he was taken from me.

I usually woke up filled with excitement about my birthday. On that day, I didn't even want to leave my room. I remained on my side, curled up and staring blankly at nothing. I couldn't think. I mean, how could I? It was my first birthday without my best friend, who I spent so many of them with. My mom came in after an hour of me waking up. She sat down next to me, running a gentle hand through my hair.
"You alright, bud? Don't answer that. Well, I mean, you can, but you don't have to. Gaaahh, I'm not good with words. The point is I know you're in a really bad place right now. And I'm here for you, truly. But... I think you need to see someone that can help you more than I can." She rambled, obviously nervous. I gave her a quick glance.

"I don't want their pity." I mumbled. Very emotional of me, right? Honestly, I was very headstrong after Mika left. I couldn't quite explain why, but I knew it had to do with the fact that without his bright presence, my life felt.. Rather empty.

"Please, Yuu. I'm worried. If you ever want to get over Mika, you need to get help from someone who understands."
This time, I remained eye contact with her, heart feeling as if it had gotten stabbed, tears stinging my eyes.

"Mom. I don't want to forget him. He's amazing and unforgettable and... I really miss him. I want him back, mom. How come the police aren't doing anything?" I cried. She seemed at a lost for words.
"I know you don't want to forget him. And for the second part," she paused. "I... Don't know. In sure they're trying their best. Please, Yuuichiro, get out of bed. Or I'll take you myself."

I refused to get out of bed. So, her solution was to manually pick me up and toss me into the car, morning breath, bed head and all of that fun stuff with it. My mom gave me gum to help with the first problem, and let me wallow in my pain in the backseat.

I will admit, I knew I looked horrible, but I didn't expect the therapist to gasp when she entered the room. My mom got up and talked to her in a hushed voice, before exiting the cramped room.

  "So, Yuuichiro, how are you?" She asked, sitting across from me.

"Horrible, thanks for asking."

"Okay, so you can give a sarcastic response. Guess that counts."

So, for the rest of the day, she attempted to pry into the deepest depths of my emotions. I don't know why, but she knew everything about my situation by the end of the session. She knew how much I loved Mika (although it was obvious it was affection, she didn't seem to point it out to me, so it went unnoticed to me for year), the day he was taken away, and how the way I was acting earlier was a normal routine that worried my mom sick. I didn't leave feeling better about myself, but I did leave with a prescription and a small word of advice that went against everything therapists probably stood for.

"You don't have to forget your friend. But you can move on if you make an effort."

If you can't tell from my whole relationship with him, I didn't follow her advice.

After that whole mess was complete, I had to go with my mom to the pharmacy, still looking like shit. We waited for three hours in awkward silence, my mom playing a game boredly on her phone. I was listening to music on an MP3 player, curled up in the vinyl seat. We got some strange looks, even a family whispering pities to each other. They either knew our situation or thought I was seriously ill or something. We got the pills and went home.

This cycle repeated for years. Go see therapist. Go to pharmacist. Get pills. Rinse and repeat. So, while Mika was undergoing painful experiments, I was getting mental help for trauma.

When I was fifteen, I had the first breakdown I had had in some time. We thought I was getting better. She thought I was getting better. And that was true, in a sense. I had learned how to hide any of my troubles or pain behind myself. Why didn't my depression meds not help? Simple. I stopped using them. I hated those damn things.

A constant reminder that people were trying to fix me.

That I was broken before I even knew what it meant.

I went to get my pills on my own. Waited two hours with my knees pressed to my chin, hood covering my face. I didn't want to be seen. I wanted to be invisible to the rest of the world. My friends had mentioned something about a circus that's been growing popular across the world in the group chat. Circus Trissteste wasn't unknown to Boston, of course. They were anxiously awaiting the arrival of the thrilling acts. I just didn't find it important. No, I would have. But I had locked myself in this bubble that no one could get into except for my Mom.

I treasured her.

While Mika was being abused, and began a long line of prescription drugs to keep him sane, I was struggling in my own way.

I was still mentally ill.

But I was accepting his death. I knew I couldn't. I knew there would be a reason why.

I tried to keep his memories latched to me tightly. I didn't want to accept that there was a reason to me moving on. It was what all of those sessions of therapy were trying to work towards, and, myself- against.

There had to be a reason why. Why I had gone on for so long, trying to look for my lost purpose.

Until I found him.

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