Before I Go

Chapter 1- The List

Depression and anxiety are hideous things. They drastically alter your perception of not only the world around you but also of yourself. Development of either, or possibly both, is typically gradual, maybe even unnoticeable, until it's suddenly all-consuming. These disorders stealthily slither into your consciousness against your awareness, taking you by complete surprise when they finally present themselves to you. They rob you of not just big things, stealing what should be the greatest moments of your life, but also of the small stuff. The ordinary things. They leech your joy, your excitement, your peace. They take the air from your lungs, the tears from your eyes, the fire in your soul. As bad as that sounds, it actually gets worse. They also replace all of these beautiful things with fear and doubt and guilt. With sadness, uncertainty, and longing.

Sometimes, these disorders allow for good days. Occasionally there are days when everything feels okay. You might even say these days are "normal." That you feel normal. Days when your insecurities don't seem to bother you so much, and you think that maybe things could be good. When your outlook is hopeful. When you might be happy.

Personally, my good days are few and far between.

Along with the good days, there are bad days. Days when you feel hopeless and lost and feel indescribably sad, sometimes for what seems to be no reason at all. Days when your sadness, guilt, or other negative emotions infect you like the plague. When your insecurities take over, and you feel like you're not enough, like you'll never be good enough. Maybe you're not skinny enough, not smart enough, not pretty enough. Your butt's not big enough, your legs aren't long enough, you're not funny enough. You're not enough. Days when you think that your friends and family must share those same terrible thoughts about you... and those days hurt. They crack your already fragile and damaged heart; they seep into your very soul and fill it with doubt and darkness and pain. So much pain. Those days send you spiraling into a never-ending battle with your own mind, looking for answers that will never come.

And no matter how much it kills you, you can't force yourself to stop looking for them.

Then there are empty days. Days when there is nothing but a gigantic, gaping hole inside you. A void that can never be filled. Days when you function entirely on autopilot because your brain and your heart are completely blank. When there are no thoughts that cross your mind, no feelings felt inside, just your body doing what it has to do to survive... and sometimes, not even that. Sometimes your body completely refuses to function on those days, as well; sometimes, it's impossible. There are days when you can't physically get your body out of bed or when something as simple as taking a shower seems comparable to climbing a mountain. Days when you don't know how to breathe, how to exist. And maybe you think that it's better if you don't.

Those are the worst days.

I am Morgan Feldman, and I struggle with depression and anxiety. My bad days outnumber my good days, and my empty days rule my life.

And ruin my life, if I'm entirely honest.

So, I've created a list. A bucket list, some might call it. Because my days are numbered. A list of all the things I want to accomplish in my senior year of high school. Things I want to do before I go... Because, at the end of the year, Morgan Feldman will be no more.

1. Make a drastic change to my physical appearance.

I think that making a drastic change, such as dyeing my dirty blonde hair, will boost my confidence. Well, that's the result I'm hoping for with this, anyway. I mean, it can't hurt, right?

As I stand here in the hair color aisle of my local department store, I mentally wish that I could justify going to the beauty salon instead. I'm sure a trained professional would do a much better job than I possibly could, but... that's an awful lot of money to spend on something so... Mundane? Vain? I don't know; it seems like a waste. Like there are better things that the money could be spent on... it's not even my money. Would my dad be mad at me for spending that much money on my hair? And if he's mad, how mad would he be...?

Okay, stop it, Morgan.

I grab a box of hair dye from the shelf and just hold it in my hands for a few minutes, staring at the picture on the front. I silently battle with my own brain on what I should do. I wonder to myself if I really want to risk messing up something as prominent as my hair. I mean, everyone will see it; a person's hair is one of the first things you notice about someone, right? But then again, it's just hair. If I mess it up, I can just cut it off. No big deal. It will grow back eventually, right? But what if I look even worse with no hair? What if I have an oddly shaped head? Or a discolored patch on my scalp? Or what if I look like some weird, shaved troll or something? And it's not even entirely about my hair; what if I get dye all over the bathroom? What if I permanently stain the sink or the tiles or something?

Ugh, I hate decisions.

I feel that no matter what I choose, it's going to be the wrong choice.

I turn the box over again and again in my hands, trying to weigh my options. Mentally listing the pros and cons of each choice. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, attempting to prepare myself for the trouble I could possibly be getting myself into.

If I'm going to do something drastic, I probably don't want to mess it up...

I think that my dad would be more upset if I attempted to color my hair myself and fudged it than if I paid a professional to do it.

It would probably be best to avoid "angry Dad."

I put the box of hair dye back in its place, my mind made up.

I'm going to see a professional hair color person... Whatever they're called.

I don't want to look like a freak; that would give the kids at school even more reason to make fun of me.

I can do this.

I can do this.