Atlas
Depression is a funny thing. It's dark and all-consuming, you have ups and downs. You never remember your downs when you're having an up, but you can't seem to remember why the ups were so good when you're in your downs. That might not make much sense, but in my head it does. I fall in deep episodes every once in a while, not being able to leave my bed often, refusing to eat, clothes pile up in my room, and pushing people away becomes a habit. I don't want other people to carry the weight of my disaster, I'm a walking disappointment and people shouldn't have to experience that.
I want to save people from myself.
That's why when I saw numbers written on my hand in too perfect handwriting, my heart sunk; because I know that I won't be able to pull myself out of this dark hole. It will consume me, and I might just let it. Forest is so good, he deserves someone that can guarantee how they feel that day, someone who can be a true comfort to him, someone who can live up to what he needs; someone who's not a disappointment.
I want to let him be.
I want to wash the pen off my hands and avoid the most handsome boy I've ever had the privilege to be in the presence of.
I want to set him free. Free of me. Free of all the baggage I'm sure I will bring.
I don't deserve to be his friend. That's why letting the darkness consume me would be better than being in the light, because at least then I wouldn't be bringing another back with me.
But I pull my phone out of my pocket once I step into the hall anyway, and write his number into my contacts. I send a quick hey, before closing my phone and putting it into my pocket.
Depression can really get to you. It can take everything you love and enjoy, and turn it into poison. It can make it seem like you're bothering the people you love, and the people that love you really don't. It tells you: They just pity you. They feel sorry for you because you're such a lost cause. No one would ever love you. No one can fix you. You can't be fixed.
I want to be better; I try to be better. I try so hard. But when the depression episodes hit, it feels like you're falling into a deep dark hole, one pinkie gripping the ledge. You pull, and pull, and pull, and it takes weeks, maybe even months to be able to pull yourself up again. Depression takes, and it takes, and it takes all the happiness you tried to build up in the short time of relief and you're tired, and you're worn out, and your brain hurts. Then the loop repeats.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, and it's almost embarrassing how quickly I pull my phone out.
Forest ☀️: Hey, you going to the game tonight?
The thought of sitting on those uncomfortable bleachers, smushed between people I don't particularly like and people that don't particularly like me makes my stomach clinch. Watching a bunch of airheads throw around a ball and tackling each other for it seems like a nightmare, and such a waste of time. Why would I do that when I could rot away in my bed with my sorrows?
Me: Wasn't planing on it. Do you want me to go?
I don't believe in a higher power, but I'm praying his says no. I won't be able to handle what will happen if he says yes.
Forest ☀️: It would be nice to see a familiar face, yes.
Me: I'll be there.
I didn't hesitate writing that message, and I didn't hesitate sending it either. If he wants me there, I'm there. If he wants me to do something, I'm doing it. If he needs or wants anything, I'll do everything in my power to make that happen for him. I haven't known him for very long, but that short amount of time is all it took. As cheesy as it really is, we clicked, and I'll take all that I can get.
I can already feel the darkness ahead, but I can feel the light around the corner more. Bright, and green, and beautiful. Just like his eyes; just like him.
Maybe I will be able to pull myself out. Maybe he will be the one to pull me out.
Maybe I can be fixed.
1/12/23