2012

July

Utah’s summer storms—

a welcome break from drizzling

Salinas puddles.

June

Long sleeves in summer

mask healing wounds and scars from 

past six months of hell.

May

AP tests, swim meets.

Jacob’s steady hand in mine

makes it worth the pain.

April

You won’t leave my dreams.

You settle into my words

and against my skin.

March

Not even Jacob

understands how I am still

so in love with you.

February (11^th)

Our own Valentines.

The last two years were roses

and your reaching hands.

Summers spent in Utah aren't far enough away for me to forget you

        I spent today wrestling you in my head. There are too many cube cars and fruit snacks and boys with sunglasses. You follow me everywhere, even to my most peaceful places, my most guarded sanctuaries.
        Sometimes I wish I could erase everything that happened between us, but somehow that feels wrong. I guess it's some weird remnant of feelings for you. Or something.
       The part of me that belongs to Jacob is very upset about this, but for the most part, I've just resigned myself to that fact.
        My thoughts cannot move an inch without bumping into some part of you and summer vacation is doing nothing but giving them more time to wander.
     

Music is the worst reminder of You

August 14, 2012

“This 80’s music is so awkward!” I’m shouting to be heard above the pounding bass.

“It’s only awkward if you make it awkward!” Rose’s casual comment, with all good intentions.

But it feels like a punch in the gut. My hands clench up as I try to keep a smile on my face.

Just then “Another One Bites the Dust” comes on the speakers. My nails dig deeper into my palms and my composure slips that much more.

I can handle this, I can handle this. But when the next song is “Marry Me” by Train, I can’t get to the door fast enough.

I close the bathroom door and break down, sobbing and gasping for air. How can You still haunt me like this??

It brush my fingers down my arm, over my scars. It’s a nervous habit I’ve developed. Before I know it, there is a new wound that will scar to match. This icy clarity overtakes me and I feel blissfully empty.

I return to the dance, empty smile plastered on my face. There is a slow song playing and so I move to sit down, but before I can, Jacob's eyes catch mine from across the room. Our gaze lasts one second, two, three, and then he smiles extra big like he knows how empty I am and is trying to fill me up with smiles and warmth.

We make our way across the room to each other and without saying a word, he takes my hand and pulls me close for a dance, body moving with mine, just holding me close.

He twirls me, and I can feel a real smile slide onto my face, with such ease, like I wasn’t just hurting myself to take away the pain just ten minutes ago.

He catches his smile and asks, “What?” with a smile of his own.

“Well, my sisters always told me that if a boy ever twirled me, I had to marry him!”

I’m half-joking, but his smile just grows as he says, “Well in that case…” and then he twirls me about ten more times until I collapse, laughing and dizzy into his arms.

Even You can't help with depression

It’s days like this where I wake right up. There’s none of the usual grogginess or falling back asleep. I’m just awake and empty, leaving the sweet caress of gentle dreams and entering my nightmarish reality.

It’s days like this that I can lie there forever because there is no energy or desire to get up.

It’s days like this where every breath is a battle. There’s a tightness in my chest, a heaviness, like there’s 500 pounds crushing my lungs. I have to tell myself to breathe in and out and even then the air feels like acid, burning, prolonging the crushing, the inevitable.

It’s days like this where I can’t stomach anything. I’m not hungry and food just makes me feel sick. I sit at the lunch table with my head in my arms and sometimes Jacob will hold my hand but often he just leaves me alone. You would’ve tried to talk to me. You would’ve made it worse.

It’s days like these that are the hardest and that make me want to give up.

Ruined

October 27, 2012

I still have no idea how I convinced him to do this, but as Mom slides the giant foam suit over Jacob’s head, he catches my eye and sticks his tongue out at me. I grin back.

Soon enough, we are in costume—tweedle dee and tweedle dum. Lauren and Sadie were in the Alice in Wonderland play a few years back and these costumes have been sitting in our garage ever since. So when Jacob asked if I wanted to do a couples costume…

He takes my hand as we walk out of the church building in our ridiculous get-up, and leans down to close the nine-inch difference (when we started dating it was just four inches), putting his lips right next to my ear.

“I hope you know how much I love you.” He does a little skip and the costume jostles around him.

I giggle and try to hip check him, but we’re both so enclosed in foam fat costumes that we just kinda bounce off each other and end up grasping each other for balance and laughing so hard that we almost fall over anyway.

We retrieve our candy buckets and trunk-or-treat with the rest of the youth. Rose is dressed up as Merida from Brave, which is just perfect with her flaming orange hair. She shows us the bow she crafted up in the hour before the trunk-or-treat. Poppy makes root beer with dry ice and we all gather around, chatting. It may be October, but tonight just feels warm and cozy.

When the activity starts winding down, Jacob and I return to the random classroom where we changed into our costumes. It’s a team effort to get the costumes off and we’re laughing again and I just..

..didn’t realize that I was wearing nothing but spandex and a tank top under my costume. Those costumes are heavy.. and besides, I’d made sure to change into the costume before he arrived. Somewhere in the back of mind, I realize that the last person, the last boy, I was this undressed in front of was you.

   But, I mean, this is Jacob. He’s seen me in a swim suit every day of water polo and swim season. It shouldn’t be a big deal.

He bites his lip and lifts his eyes to mine and I can tell it is a big deal, at least to him.

He steps to me, wrapping me up with tender arms and I allow myself to be swept away. His lips brush away time and place and it’s surprising how little I care about the silly trunk-or-treat now.

I tense up when I feel an aching desperateness enter the kiss. He begins attacking my lips and I push away, surprised.

When I see his eyes, I know I’m in trouble.

The flash of black. The hunger. It will never stop.

He pulls me back into the kiss and I’m so frozen that I allow it. I’m vulnerable and at his mercy. I can’t stop it. It’s happening again.

No.

In a second, I’ve pushed him off of me, shoving him away with a hand against his chest. At first he thinks it’s shared passion, but when my lips remain mine, he realizes.

I see this, and the disappointment and anger at himself, the struggle to regain control, all flicker across his eyes in a couple of seconds. He knows. God, he must know. He lost control. It’s a matter of time for us now.

After a moment that stretches and pushes between us, his body relaxes. He pulls me against him, and for now I let him, and we hold each other until the shaking stops.

Breaking down and breaking up

October 29, 2013

As Jacob takes my face in his hands and kisses me, I’m thrown back to another place, another time, another boy, you, and for a second I feel so complete and happy. I keep my eyes closed a second after the kiss ends, prolonging the moment. But when I open my eyes, it’s just Jacob and I feel guilty and horrible for even imagining, hoping… 

When I get home, I turn on the C.D. you made me, get out your picture, pull on the socks from you, reread all of your old letters (and thats a whole lot of letters) and snuggle with the adorable dog stuffed animal you gave me. I cry and I cry hard. I miss you, and it’s so confusing because doing all of this makes me feel the most whole I’ve felt in a long time.

It takes me hours to drift into restless sleep.

 October 30, 2013

I’ve been feeling so down, so self-critical this week. My eyebrows are too thick, my butt chin sticks out, my eyes are black and my hair is frizzy.

And then, I wake up to a text from you.

“You miss me. Real or not real?”

And before I can even think, my fingers are typing back.

“Real.”

I scold myself as I walk to the bathroom. That was stupid, that was stupid.

And then as I look in the mirror, everything changes. My hair cascades down my back in curls, my big brown eyes blink in surprise under thin smooth eyebrows. I’m beautiful.

When I realize the reason for the change, I sob.

It’s a brief conversation with Jacob. I tell him that I still have all these confused feelings for you, that it’s not fair to make him deal with my issues. He doesn’t say anything. I plead with him to keep our friendship. That has been a constant over the past three years. I can’t lose that. He agrees with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

The second I’m away from him, I text you and ask to meet.

Seeing you again is like a reset button

November 2, 2012

It’s 2:10 when I pull out of Taco Bell. My heart is beating so fast as I shoot you a quick text, “On my way,” and your instant reply, “Ok :)”

I’m not worried about keeping you waiting. With how well I know you, you’ve been waiting there for an hour, trying to calm yourself down and prep your words.

The drive over stretches on for enough time that I get all worked up and nervous. Not to mention terrified. I turn up the air to ease my sweating. Gosh, I’m going to look like a mess when I get there, and not even a hot mess.

I pull up to Starbucks, do a quick check in the mirror, frowning as I brush the hair out of my face. Sweaty mess. Yup.

I grab my bag out of the passenger seat, lock the car, and walk up to the door. I’m so afraid of tripping, falling flat on my face. Flip-flops don’t fail me now. My hair is clinging to the back of my neck, so I pull it around onto my shoulder. No that’s no good. I flip it back. Jeez, how am I even gonna find you in a crowded Starbucks? I’ll look like an idiot standing there scanning for you. Oh my gosh. Oh my gosh. My hand is on the door handle and I’m hyperventilating and a cool blast of air hits my face and I can’t see anything—stupid sunglasses as I struggle to take them off and oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh.

I look up from the ground, and our eyes meet across the crowded restaurant. I was worried about finding you? I forgot how we’re just.. drawn to each other. Oh Lord, the way you’re looking at me, like I’m not just some sweat mess or screwed up girl with loads of issues, the way you look into me.. beyond the makeup and confidence shirt and mask and scars and depression, the way you see who I am, know me for me, and love me in my entirety. Oh God.

My miniscule worries brushed aside by one glance from you, I mouth a silent “hey” and you smile because that habit hasn’t changed and then I walk over and sit down.

“Hi.” You’re smiling so at me with such kindness.

“Hey.” I set my food down on the table. “I feel so guilty for having non-starbucks food.”

“I know,” you chuckle. “I gave in and bought a drink.”

My eyes sweep the empty table and you elaborate. “Oh, I finished already. I’ve been here a while.”

Knew it.

“What were you working on?” I nod toward the laptop stuffed under your chair.

And from there, it’s just so easy. We fall back into everything we were. This is how I know that it was love and it was real, because after a year and a half, it’s still so simple to slip back. We never stopped caring.

It takes at least an hour for us to come to a comfortable lull in the conversation. I take a breath. Your eyes tighten. You know what’s coming.

“I just.. need to know why.” It’s something that’s plagued me for a year and a half now.

You sigh and run a hand through your hair—unusual for you because you hate getting your hair messed up. This is stressing you out. I feel a twinge of guilt that I shove away.

“Jess.. I can’t give you an answer because I don’t know myself. I loved you so much, I didn’t want anyone but you—I still don’t. So why would I screw that up?”

This speech is so convincing. And I can’t help thinking that I could fall back into you and us in a second. I’ve done it before. It would be so easy.

But easy is not what I need. If I wanted easy, I would’ve stayed with Jacob. I wouldn’t be here now.

“What are you thinking?” Your hand stretches across the table, almost reaching for me.

I fold into myself. “That isn’t good enough.”

“I know.”

I glance at my phone and tense. It’s 3:30 and I should be home by now.

“If I don’t get home in the next couple minutes, Mom will know something is up. I have to go.”

You bite your lip. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

I stand and leave

I spend winter ball night making out with you

December 13, 2013

“And you’ll have to excuse my driving. I’m scary when I’m upset.” I grimace but you don’t seem tense at all.

“Oh go for it. You’re never angry. Get it out.”

That’s all the encouragement I need to go crazy, 80 mph on the back roads, music blasting, and you are just there with me.

When, out of sheer desperation, I called you in tears and told you I was driving around, aimless, lost, alone, you dropped everything to meet me. You didn’t even ask what was wrong, you just came. And even now, you still don’t ask. You’re just here.

When most of my emotion has calmed, we pull over and just talk. It’s still so easy. I tell you how bad I’ve been getting because I’ve been aching to tell somebody. I wouldn’t have been so upset about Jacob taking another girl to Winter Ball if I hadn’t been feeling so crappy this month. Depression comes in waves and right now it’s a freaking tsunami.

And you just listen, good ol’ dependable Ian. You offer unconditional love and maybe that’s what I need right now.
        "Jacob is a bum and after what he said to you, you don't owe him anything." You're in protection mode, I can tell.
        "I know.. That's pretty much what Daniel told me too."
        You cock your head to one side, a unspoken question. I wave my hand, dismissing the long answer.
        "I was saying how much I missed Jacob. And Daniel went through all of the reasons I broke up with Jacob again with me. It was just what I needed."
        This time, a smirk from you. It's my turn to cock my head to the side.
        "It's just.. you don't think Daniel has ulterior motives?"
        "What do you mean? He's my best friend."
        "So was Jacob."
        Oh. Oh.
        "Nah I don't think Daniel feels that way about me."
        You scoff. "How could he not? You're.. you!"
        It’s obvious that I’m still not thinking straight when I grab you by your shirt and pull your lips to mine. There is a second hesitation on your part and for a moment I’m terrified I’ve done something wrong, and then you’re kissing me.

Oh. My. Dear. Lord. I’d forgotten what it was like to be kissed, and kissed right, by someone who’s not slobbering all over me in disgusting ignorance. Your lips move over mine with ease, capturing them, making them yours. And then your teeth graze my lower lip and I can feel myself melt into your arms, like I have a million times before, like the past two years haven’t even happened.

You understand depression better than:

January 4, 2013

I push the hair out of my face and the memory out of my mind. Neither works. The hair falls back into my eyes and I fall back into the memory.
        Jacob's red face, the words pouring out of his mouth. "You can't tell me you need me. You don't really need me. And I don't need you in my life. You aren't important enough. You can overcome the depression by yourself. Just be more positive. It's getting bad because you're letting it. You can decide to overcome it. I can't help you anymore."

Months later, and it still frikkin' hurts.

        It’s already been a hard and confusing day, with Jacob ignoring me and Tim doing everything but that. Depression has been heavy today and although I’m getting better at handling it, today I've just pushed everyone away.

I ditch guitar but decide to stick it out for swim practice. My priorities, like my head, are all over the place.

After practice, I make it back out to my car, and it’s a relief to drop the forced smile and turn on the music. I take a very roundabout way home, windows down, music up, just unwinding.

I walk in my front door to find the table all set for dinner. I must’ve been driving for longer than I thought.

“You’re a little late,” Mom comments.

“I took a short drive.”

She purses her lips but says nothing else. We sit down to eat and Dad launches into a bike riding story and I can’t even work up an appetite, even after swim. This is so frustrating.

“So how was your day, honey?” My mother puts her hand on my arm, pulling me from my thoughts.

“It was okay.” I know better than to hesitate.

“What was your favorite part?”

She’s been using this question on me since the 1^st grade. Whenever I don’t provide adequate information, whenever I’m feeling quiet, whenever she can tell I’ve had a bad day.

It often gets me talking. But today, I am so down and upset with everything and frustrated with myself. If I’m being honest, there was no favorite part of my day.. except maybe the part I was asleep for.

I know I’ve hesitated for too long when she sighs.

“Come on, sweetie. You’ve gotta look for the positive in order to get over this.”

Sweetie? Positive thinking? Over this?? She sounds so much like Jacob that it aches.

You’d think after a year of this that she’d understand a little more. Of course positive thinking helps. But it’s insensible for anyone who understands mental illness to suggest it can be solved by positive thinking. And there is no over this, there is somewhat less awful than it is now.

What am I doing still sitting here? I’m not hungry and this conversation is not helping.

“I’m sorry, but I need to be excused.”

Without waiting for an answer, I rise from my chair and pat her shoulder as I leave the kitchen, a feeble attempt to convey to her that it’s not her fault that I’m grumpy and difficult.

I grab my notebook and Pride and Prejudice and am half-way up the stairs when my phone buzzes.

“Hey! How was your day?”

You receive a different answer than my parents. I just pour my heart out to you and I know I sound whiney and dumb, but you skip over that. You provide empathy and validation with just the right words to make me feel just the slightest bit less awful. Jeez. This. This is why I fell in love with you.

“I guess I’m just exhausted and difficult and I want today to be over.”

It takes youless than two minutes to respond.

“I’m sorry, love. Time for bed maybe?”

My tummy erupts in butterflies that I haven’t felt since.. well since the last time you called me love. I feel vulnerable in the most taken care of kind of way. No one else has made me feel like this.

“Yeah..”

        But we end up texting for the next hour before I climb into bed and fall into sleep.

Graphic design class has room for lots of drama

  February 19, 2013
       I’m frowning into my book, focusing way too hard to enjoy in any small part the book I’m reading, when my phone buzzes. It startles me out of my book and I take a second to glance around the courtyard and orient myself. People walk by in pairs and trios, talking, laughing, eating. I sigh at my company, a book and some cheese crackers, before reaching for my phone.

“Hey gorgeous :)”

My face lights up and I drop everything to text back, “Hey there handsome :)”

I don’t even have to wait a solitary minute before my phone buzzes again. “How’s your day?”

“So-so. I’m eating alone with my book :P”

“Aww. Want me to come keep you company?”

I glance at the time on my phone—just ten minutes of lunch left. “Nah. Lunch is almost over.”

“Ok.. remember that you’re beautiful :)”

I feel my heart speed up, and it’s more alive than it’s been in almost two years. Goodness.

“If you think I’m so pretty, why don’t you just come out with it and ask me on a date?”

Now I’m just playing and he catches my drift like I know he will, because he always has.

“Maybe I know you’re gorgeous and I just don’t want to own up to it!”

“Fine then! No date for you! Your loss ;P”

The bell rings before he replies, so I shut my book and grab my crackers and my bag and head to graphic design.

I save Daniel’s computer and log onto my own. Half an hour, four sarcastic remarks, and three reprimands from our teacher later, my phone buzzes again. The message is long. Uh-oh.

“Jess…so many things would have to happen before we could date again…and even then I’m not sure I could let you in again.”

My temper flares and I have to put my phone down and make myself focus on class until most of my rage is under control. It’s not enough to keep my message polite.

“You couldn’t let me in?? How can you turn that onto me after what happened? I could never trust you like that again and it is your fault.”

“I know…”

“Then why would you even say that? I was playing around about that, not suggesting we get back to together!”

“I suppose I’ll never stop hoping.”

With that, my heart drops. Part of me will never stop hoping either, but that part is outweighed by ridiculous amounts of bitterness and anger and still healing wounds of betrayal that run deeper than anyone can tell.

“I don’t think I will either.”

“Maybe we should just take some time to think.”

It’s a temporary peace treaty, but I take it.

        “Okay.”

Everyone knows to stay out of my war path, except apparently you

March 6, 2013

 “-believe that her life is so perfect!”

I hesitate outside the classroom door, not wanting to interrupt whatever intense conversation is going on between Jade and Tim and a few others.

“I mean, her parents are together, she lives in a beautiful house, she’s the effing valedictorian, what does she have to complain about??”

Me. Jade is talking about me.

“Jade, it’s not like—” I make out Tim’s voice before he’s interrupted.

“No. She has no reason to be so effing depressed. She’s such a slut and attention whore. After what she did to Jacob, I’m glad he told her off.”

I’m a crier, but after hearing this, I just feel angry. I rip down the ramp, my duffel bag slamming against the door as I tear around the corner. It takes me a record two minutes to get to the pool area, where I swing the gate open and dump my backpack.

Daniel raises a hand. “Hey Je-”

I blow past him, taking my duffel bag into the locker room and changing in a corner. Throwing my bag and towel onto the bleachers, I snap the cap onto my head along with my googles and do rushed stretches before diving in. Practice isn’t due to start for another ten minutes but I can’t sit still for another second.

I throw myself into practice, completing sets with a vigor that borders on reckless. Tim hops into my lane, like he usually does, but he keeps his distance. He knows when to stay out of my way.

I stay late to finish the whole work out, even though Coach lets everyone go for the day. Mostly I just don’t want to talk to anyone, but people are still socializing outside after I’ve changed out of my suit.

Daniel catches my eyes as I retrieve my backpack and gives me a weary smile. I can’t muster a smile, but hopefully he notices my softening at his concern. To my surprise, it’s Jacob who reaches out to brush my arm as I pass him. I shy away from his touch and he retreats, settling with a firm “Please don’t do anything dumb.”

Even though I know it’s irrational, I still feel myself getting angry at the comment. Just because he knows me well enough to read me doesn’t mean he has any right to make a comment like that anymore.

Tim catches me just outside the pool gate, tugging my elbow which I wrench from his grasp. He takes a step back…but when I don’t walk away, he takes two steps forward.

“Do you want to talk abo-”

“Don’t.” He blinks at me. “Please. I don’t want to take this out on you when it has nothing to do you with you.

A pause. “I don’t mind, Jess. Really.” His fingertips brush mine and I flinch.

“I have to go.”

“Hey.” He snatches my hand and turns me towards him. “Call me if you need anything.”

I snatch my hand right back and book it for the school gates. Even this brief exchange has slowed me down enough that some of the unprocessed emotional crap has caught up with me, and hot tears come pouring out as I power up the hill home. I don’t stop until I reach the top and my phone buzzes.

I swear, if it’s Jacob, I’m gonna..

But it’s not Jacob.

It’s you.

“Hey beautiful :) How was your day?”

And just like that, my anger has an outlet. Not even a misdirected one.

“Really awful.” I shoot back as I cross the street and turn the corner.

“Aww :/ What happened?”

What happened?

“Well, let’s see. I am so done with my life that I can’t even get out of bed in the morning. I don’t get hungry or enjoy food. I can’t focus in class and I’m bombing quizzes left and right. I am anti-social and I can’t sleep and I can’t think and I don’t even feel like me anymore. I'm so depressed that Jade has decided I'm a drama queen and also a slut, and is informing the entire school. You wanna know what happened? You happened.”

By the time I’ve typed this out, I’m turning into my cul-de-sac. I’m fumbling for my keys when you respond.

“I don’t know what you want me to say. It doesn’t seem to matter how many times I apologize. I am so sorry, Jessica. For so many things.”

I drop my backpack on the couch and spit a response back.

“Sorry doesn’t make anything different. It can’t make up for what happened. I was doing just fine before you came into my life and you ruined everything. My family, my friends, my religion.. I can’t believe we’re even talking now. I can’t believe how stupid I am for letting you back into my life. I will never be free of you, but I’m sure as hell not doing myself any favors still hanging around with you.”

I’m sitting there with my head in my hands when your text comes in.

“You’re probably right.”

In an instant, all of the anger drains from my body and I collapse into myself, pulling my knees to my chest. We’ve been through a lot together and you might’ve even deserved the things I said, but I’ve never been this vicious with you.

The worst part is that you just took it. I would’ve preferred you to argue back. I can’t respond furiously to “you’re probably right.”

Another buzz. “Jess, I don’t think there will ever come a day where I’m not in love with you to some degree. I just want you to be happy. And if that requires me to drop out of your life, I can do that.”

For the first time, I see how manipulative this is. You have put me through so much, yet you’re the one being noble by “letting me go”? How are you the hero here?

You shouldn’t be.

I am done playing this game with you. Any response would just agitate the already delicate situation here.

I set my phone down and join my parents in the kitchen. I need to be around people, need a distraction. Without anger fueling me, I feel empty, deflated, ready to do just what Jacob told me not to.

My heart catches up with my head and gives annoying little flares of pain to remind me how much I still frikkin’ love you. I will never understand how that works.

For now, I allow my mind to gag and bind my heart, so that the absence of pain is the only thing left to fill the spot where you used to be.

A stupid bag of chips initiated another stupid fight

March 7, 2013

We’re eating lunch in Briney’s room for a change, Daniel and I and some others of our lunch group. I’ve had a particularly rough week and I have the sweater to prove it. But I am so comfortable with Daniel. He’s making me smile and giggle with his raised eyebrows and quick humor.

I reach across the desk to steal another one of his chips, half-way to the bag when he spots me. He rolls his eyes, we are joking with each other still, and then grabs my arm to keep me from his chips.

I cry out in pain and he releases me, taken aback. I cradle my arm against my stomach. His eyes widen at the realization.

I notice that everyone is staring. Daniel laughs and plays it off. I can’t even hear what he’s said to make everyone leave us alone. Then he turns back to me, his eyes filled with nothing but concern, reaching out to brush my right hand with his fingertips.

“Sorry. I didn’t know,” he whispers.

Of course he didn’t. I’m good at hiding things when I want to.

“It’s fine.” I shake my head and drop my eyes.

“It’s obviously not fine,” he argues.

I duck my eyes. He sighs. “What happened?”

“Ian and I.. we had a dumb fight,” I mumble, barely managing the words.

I don’t have to look up to know an eyebrow is raised at me, but this is anything but humorous.

“Was it really dumb? Or did you have every right to be ups—”

“It doesn’t matter, okay?”

Usually he’ll drop it after I snap at him. But he must know that this was no ordinary fight. He presses.

“It matters. Was this a ‘we’re done’ kind of fight? Or was this a ‘I’ll be mad for a week and then go back to you’ kind of fight?”

I shrug. “Jess.” Daniel’s voice is harsher. He wants an answer.

“It’s hard to know with him,” is all I can really say.

There is a moment where neither of us know what to say.

“It must’ve been a bad fight,” Daniel decides.

He doesn’t need to hear details to read my expression. I bite my lip, hard.

The bell rings and I stand up, gather my stuff. He nudges me on our way out.

        “We’ll talk later.”

Stanford's rejection shouldn't be so surprising

March 18, 2013

I’m bringing up a webpage on Hedge’s computer and he’s sitting on the other side of his desk, talking to a group of students. I find the site just as he finishes his conversation and turns to me.

“How are you doing, superstar?”

I winkle my nose and keep my eyes on the computer screen. “I’m hanging in there.”

“Less than two months left.” He is trying to be encouraging. God, he has no idea, for once.

I’m silent, swallowing my tears before I turn to face him. He looks so expectant, so hopeful, just like me last Friday night before four little emails changed my whole plan.

“Stanford rejected me.” It’s all I can manage.

That hopeful little smile is wiped, obliterated from his face. “No…” I can’t differ between disbelief or denial in his voice.

“And Yale and Princeton and Columbia.”

“…Jess..” For once he is at a loss for words.

Another group of students comes over to demand his attention, giving me the chance to finish what I was doing on the computer and half-way compose myself. He turns back to me as soon as he’s free.

“The admission process is dumb. Kids who don’t deserve to get in, do. And truly gifted kids who deserve to get in to all the best schools with full scholarships, don’t. It’s not fair and it doesn’t make sense.”

I nod dumbly. This does not make anything better and we both know it. He hesitates as a heavy silence settles between us.

“There was nothing more you could’ve done.”

I tear up again. I thought I'd silenced all those tears with silver this weekend. Apparently not. I tug my sleeve more securely down my arm.
        Hedge notices this tiny action and his forehead wrinkles.

“So UCSD?” Always trying to help me move on.

“Do you have an extra 27,000 dollars laying around?” I come off harsher than I mean to but he doesn’t flinch.

“I think,” he begins, his voice quiet, “that you will be happier there than BYU. We’ll find a way to make it happen.”

Antidepressants

April 16, 2013

I shoulder my duffel bag and squeeze the chlorine from my hair. Tim meets me eyes and just falls into step besides me. He pushes open the pool gate for me and we head towards the parking lot. I’ve just finished braiding my hair by the time we get to the car. I toss my duffel bag in the back and slide into the driver’s seat. He gets in on the passenger side, reaching for what might be the billionth time to change the radio station from the country station I had it on earlier. I roll my eyes.

As we are pulling out of the parking lot, Tim takes my free hand. I grin and thank the heavens that I’ve spent so much time driving single-handedly in practice for this very moment.

All of the grinning and light-heartedness evaporates the instant we pull into the CVS parking lot. I park, turn the car off. Hesitate.

Tim squeezes my hand. “It’s gonna be okay, Jess.”

We both climb out of the car and as soon as I’m close enough, he takes my hand again. I feel like his hand is the only thing keeping me from running away screaming.

The transaction is short; the pharmacist pulls my bag of pills and I slide Mom’s debit card. I don’t let go of Tim’s hand the entire time.

Back in the car, I get watery eyes and he just squeezes my hand. We’ve been through this argument so many times that he doesn’t even have to ask what is going through my head.

“Jessica Lynn.” I start at my middle name. His gaze is unshakeable. “You are not crazy. You are just handling the situation. You are being proactive and trying to solve the problem instead of letting it consume you. You are so strong.”

Good lord I need him and his quiet strength.

He leans forward to kiss me, a brief transfer of comfort and strength. Pulling away, he murmurs a quiet “I love you.”

This isn’t new, but I am overwhelmed with the sincerity in his voice, winding through my veins, setting my heart ablaze. I let out some mix of a sob and a laugh and he wipes away a stray tear.

“I love you.” He says again. “You can do this.”

Dear lord, I haven’t felt like this since—

Comparing boys to you has never gotten me anywhere. But I realize that if you were here, you would do the same thing.

I think that I feel more deeply for Tim than I am willing to admit.. especially if I’m comparing him to you and coming out with a positive result.

        I drop Tim off at his house, with another lingering kiss, and head home.

Going to BYU is going to require a freaking ton of antidepressants

April 17, 2013

I shouldn’t have checked my email before dinner. I just shouldn’t have. I came home ravenous from swim practice and now I just feel nauseous.

I shouldn't be surprised at little emails from colleges ruining my day. I stare at the screen, feeling everything on my face droop.
         Dear Jessica Rosa,
      We were delighted to offer you admission to BYU, with an accompanying full-ride scholarship. Don't forget to log on and confirm your acceptance of this amazing opportunity! If we do not receive an answer from you by tomorrow, we will have to give your spot and you scholarship to another deserving student.
      Sincerely,
      BYU Admissions Office
        It makes sense to accept. It makes so much frikkin sense.

I can’t do it.

At this point, I’d almost rather face the antidepressants than make a major decision about my future. I study the message and my mind wanders. 

 I used to have big dreams about moving away and going to college and everything being solved. I guess I thought that a big change would finally rid me of depression.
        But, I am now realizing that it won’t. Especially with a college that I’m being dragged to, kicking and screaming. I’ll take the same problems there. There is no end.

So I suppose it really doesn’t frikkin matter where I go to college. At least at BYU, I won’t be a financial burden to my parents. I open the website and click my acceptance before I can think about it too much.

Before I go to bed, I pop open my pill container, all orange and white and official.  The pills are the soft green of throw up or hospital walls. With a sip of water, I down a single pill. 

I flop onto my bed. A part of me feels very relieved—like, good I'm taking charge of my crazy! But mostly I just feel afraid. Am I a crazy person? Will these even work? An irrational part of me feels bitter and angry.

And also.. there is a feeling, a knot forming in the pit of my stomach. It’s unfamiliar. Failure, I realize. It is failure. In taking the pills, I have admitted there is something wrong with me and that I need help to manage my own life. I’ve always been so independent.

There is something formless deep, within me, crying out in despair. I feel as though I have drugged and bound some innermost piece of myself. I guess I've lived with depression for so long that trying to get rid of it feels like betrayal. 

I don’t know how to feel all these things at once, especially after so long of a feeling famine. I curl up beneath my covers and hope for sleep to come quickly. 

Reasons

May 3, 2013
        "Good luck," I murmur into his shoulder.

He sighs and pulls away and I meet his eyes and they look so unsure and I’m suddenly terrified. “Tim?”

"I’m just not looking forward to this."

"I know.. sorry.."

"Don’t apologize. It’s my own decision." He gives me a little smile and bites his lip and I swear if we weren’t in the middle of the pool area, I would kiss him like nothing else. Hopefully soon I’ll be able to.

He is still so tense, his eyes refusing to meet mine and this panicky feeling rises in my chest. I can’t lose him.

"Are you feeling pretty sure about this then?" He has reassured me probably twenty times in the past week, but he’s never looked this this unsteady.

He hesitates and Amanda appears by his side, being all stupid and pestering him to leave. God, she hates me. What an annoying little sister. He gives me an apologetic smile and turns to go with Amanda.

Near the edge of the pool gate, he pauses and turns back.

"Jess,"

"Yeah?"

"I promise."

A giddy feeling runs through me and stays with me as I grab my bag and change into my suit.

The giddy feeling does not, however, last through swim practice. I spend the entire two hours with my head in the water. There is no joking or socializing, oh no, not during hell week. The regional championships are a week and a half away and my body cannot take much more of the abuse my coach has the audacity to call practice.

 Directly after swim practice, I scurry over, hair still dripping with chlorine, to the spring musical. Mr. Mack has practically forced me to be in the pit orchestra. I kept trying to tell him that I couldn’t do it, that I had enough on my plate.

His response to this, standing in the too-small hallway on a Wednesday morning, comes back to me, as stale and putrid as his breath in my face. You are damn smart and a good trumpet player. But you are flaky and you’ll never be able to hold a real job because of it.

I joined the pit orchestra.

It’s been fun; there are some great people. They greet me tonight as I unlock my trumpet case and slide the mouthpiece into its spot and twist it a quarter of a circle to the right.

I only miss two notes, but Mr. Mack rubs his forehead and closes his eyes after each one. I cannot make him happy. I’m not looking forward to the other thing he coerced me into: the stupid overnight field trip for band—a class that I’m not even enrolled in, I might add—that requires me to miss classes. Plus a whole two days with Mack. I’m ecstatic.

My lips are numb by the time I’m allowed to put my trumpet away, lock up the case, grab my purse and leave. The second I get home, a pile of practice FRQs for Calculus greets me coldly. And I haven’t even looked at the practice essays for AP English. The AP tests are the weekend after the swim championships and I’m going crazy. I mean, it’s normal for me to lose about ten pounds and get sick during finals week. I just stress way too much. But this stress.. it’s more than ever before.

I’m shuffling through my AP Calculus notes, trying desperately to find the page on L’Hopital’s Rule, when the text comes, the one I’ve been anticipating all evening.

I seize my phone, unlocking it and scanning the message.

“You are going to hate me but we need to remain friends. I know what I said earlier but I chose her tonight. You are still my best friend and nothing will change that."

And with one text, it’s over.

I get through seven FRQs and two practice essays before I allow myself to go to bed. My parents sigh in relief when they see me packing up my binders and papers. They feel obligated to stay up as long as I do, which they don’t need to, but whatever.

I keep myself composed while I brush my teeth, wash my face, say prayers with my parents.

But when I lay down in my bed and pull the covers around me, when there is no FRQs or essays to keep me busy, when there is nothing but a teeny prick of light that is my night light, I cry.

Some memories are burned into my mind

May 6, 2013

I hunt Tim down on Monday. He doesn’t get to just get off this frikkin easily.

We sit under one of the big oak trees near the gym, a common spot for us to go during lunch. I know I will never be able to come here again without thinking of this. Just like I can't sit on the planter boxes between the two gyms or linger by the brick wall in front of the library because of you.

I let him read a snippet of a rant I wrote about all of this crap. I can’t communicate amazingly verbally and he knows that. But oh, on paper? He is speechless when he finishes.

A moment passes. He hands my notebook back.

 “Jess, I.. it just wouldn’t.. if I had chosen you, if we started dating..” He says this the way you tell people their great aunt who smelled like old couch has died. Delicately, but with little emotion. He doesn’t care, I realize. He doesn’t care.

“People would talk about us so much. They would all talk behind our backs and it just wouldn’t be worth it.”

I blink back the tears but they come through my words, making my voice thick and syrupy.

“I wouldn’t be worth it?”

And now he just looks uncomfortable and still not any sorrier. His silence cuts more than any words he could ever say.

The tears spill over and run down my cheeks and I’m still holding his eyes.

“Take it back. You don’t mean it.”

He holds my eyes with his and I’m shocked at the lack of regret there.

“You’re right. I don’t.”

It’s a slap in the face but I know if I don’t hear it straight out, I will never be able to let him go.

“Don’t what?”

“I don’t love you.”

The tears are the silent, aching kind, drops of regret and sorrow and hurt. The quiet hangs between us, pressing down, suffocating, separating us. I feel something inside of me break, something that I’m not sure can ever be fixed.

“Jess, I—”

“Just go.” My voice is cold and detached and I’m strangely pleased that I can still manage that.

“Ok.” He rises to leave, turning around a couple of feet away and catching my eyes again. “You will always be my best friend.”

I feel the anger and disbelief rising to conquer the hurt and I’m relieved that he leaves before any of the bitter comebacks explode.

I watch him walk away and he doesn’t look back.

I don't stay for sixth block. Mr. Mack must be used to me ditching his guitar class by now anyway. I pause to chat with the supervisor guarding the school gate and then I grab my keys and just go.

I drive my usual route along the back farm roads, music blaring. The flash of sun in my rearview mirror echoes the pain flashing across my mind. My hands are aching from holding the steering wheel so tightly, but at this speed it's like I can't let go. I've taken this road fast before, that's pretty much the only way I drive it, and I know it like the back of my hand. But now my speedometer is edging towards ninety mph, and everything is just unfamiliar blurs, and I'm not sure I've ever felt this out of control. 

This is what depression feels like

May 7, 2013

I spend all day at school, my feet shuffling from class to class, my body filling desks, my eyes staring vacantly. I know I should pay more attention, but I am not really there.

I spend all lunch hiding out in the library, away from snickering faces and prying eyes. There is literally no one left at school that doesn't dislike me in some degree and at this point it's just exhausting.

I go to swim practice after school, and I know that I should put everything into this. God, swim is my life for 5 months a year. But now it is different, and I can’t bring myself to care enough, to put anything into it.

I go home and I know I need to do all this school work and homework, but I just don’t. I sit on the couch doing nothing. I know that my education is important, bla bla bla, but it just doesn’t seem important anymore. Any of it.

When evening comes, I know I should be hungry, but I’m not. All I feel is this horrible aching in my stomach, in my heart, this emptiness that consumes me. I know I should go eat something, fill myself up with something, but I can’t remember the last time something actually tasted good. 

I lay in my bed and I know that I should sleep, but I can’t. Logically, I know that I felt, or rather didn't feel, all of this before.. yesterday. But yesterday was the last straw. I have been strong and carried on for far too long. I start making plans. Tomorrow is Wednesday; Mom usually lets me take the car to school on Wednesdays. I can ditch guitar class, go for a drive.. and well, car crashes happen all the time, right?
        You wander from your cozy little spot set firmly in the center of my mind and start giving opinions that I haven't asked for. Part of you is very disappointed and can't believe I'd even think about this. You love me and isn't that reason enough to stay alive?? The other part is egging me on. 

I want so badly to just sleep, to just shut this all out. It is too late for me to be making plans. This is the inbetween hour when sleep evades my grasp, when these shadows and monsters come back to haunt me. I know sleep is my only escape, but sleep hasn’t rejuvenated me in so long. I just feel tired all the time, afraid to sleep, knowing that it won’t help.

The only thing I feel anymore is despair.

Raided Battle Grounds have no place in a guidance counselor's office

May 8, 2014

I can't get the words out. Some things haven't changed, I guess. Instead, I slide my notebook across the desk, something I wrote yesterday.
        “For once when someone asks how I'm doing, I want to tell them the trUth, I waNt to sCream at them how I've been broken for so long. For oncE when someone says they're so sorry or they understand how I'm feeling, I waNt to tell them how wrong they are, how they can't even begin to imagine what I've been through. For once when someone sayS they love me, I don't want to feel obligated to say it back, because I've fOrgotten how love feels, because I haven't loved anyone since you. For once when someone asks what's wRong, I want to spill my heart to them without worrying how they'll see mE after. For once, I want to be accepteD for me, nothing held back, nothing pretended, just real." 
        And from today.

“I’m only suicidal because my pain exceeds my coping mechanisms. I can’t increase my coping mechanisms much more. So I want to quit everything because I’m trying to decrease my pain and stress. But I find myself unable to decrease my pain at all. People and circumstances don’t understand how on the edge I am. And so I’m not sure how much longer I can stand this. I don’t know how much longer I’ll be here.”

Mrs. Lopez looks up from my notebook, her ebony spiral curls tousling a bit. I bite my lip, afraid of her reaction. If Hedgepeth had been here today, I would've gone to him. But he chose the day I needed him most to be absent.
        For a minute, she does nothing at all. The hard plastic of the chair digs into my back. She reaches over the desk and takes one of my shaking hands.

“Jessica, I’m so glad you came to me.”

Aaand I lose it. It’s not an explosion of uncontrollable sobs and ungodly noises. It is silent tears, screaming down my cheeks and hanging on my chin, dropping down onto the empty spot in my chest.

Mrs. Lopez, God bless her, just pulls out the chair next to me and wraps an arm around me. She rubs my back and I lean into her embrace, desperate for any promise of comfort.

“My son.. he had something like this happen to him too. He was so unhappy and I didn’t realize it and because of that, I almost lost him. Jessica, you are like a daughter to me. We are not going to lose you. Okay?”

I nod, still incapable of making any noise remotely close to words.

“Okay,” She answers for me. “Here’s what we are going to do. I’m going to leave a few FRQs for our class to practice. And you and I are going to go see the guidance counselor. They’ll want to call your parents. We can sit down with them and get everything out in the open. I’ll stay with you for as long as you want.”

Such a feeling of relief sweeps through me, taking me off guard. But honestly, this is exactly what I need. A mother’s comfort, a solidly laid out plan. Mrs. Lopez knows this, knows me. Thank goodness for her. She is saving my life.
        For once, I am not thinking of you. I'm not considering what you'll think or how you'd react if you were here. I'm the one in trouble right now. Not you. Not you.

We walk to the guidance counselor’s office where I repeat my story again. The guidance counselor looks up my home phone and right before she dials, I holler at her to stop. I cannot have my mother here. I envision her picking up the phone during a Raided Battle Ground, playing with her World of Warcraft buddies, distractedly getting through the conversation and feeling annoyed as she logs off to come here. No. I cannot have my mother here.

“Call my Dad,” I say.

She does. I hear bits of the shockingly brief conversation.

I’m at work right now. Could you call my wife?

She asked for you specifically.

Oh. Ok. I’m leaving right now.

Not even hesitation. If Mrs. Lopez is my plan-maker, then Dad is my intervener. 

A half hour, some super awkward conversations, and lots of hand squeezing later, Dad is signing me out of school and we're walking out the schools gates.
        "I'll see you at home?" He says.
        "Um," I say. "I probably shouldn't be driving right now."
        He gives me such a sad look that I feel guilty-which is ridiculous, guilty for how I'm feeling? But he instead of saying something, he just puts an arm around me and walks me to his car.
         The absence of any noise in the car is so incredibly present and even though I’m in a delicate place right now, I would give anything for a bit of normal conversation. I am limited in my ability to handle stress and cope, but I am still me.

I drum my fingertips on the leather seat, fiddle with my purse.

“Were you at least nice to everybody?” Dad's comment shocks me out of my thoughts.

What? Did he really just say that?

I look over at him, and he's focusing on the road, but I see a slight tug at the corner of his mouth. I laugh and the unfamiliarity of the sound aches. “Well I definitely learned a lot of new things.”

He chuckles back and then we’re pulling into the driveway. Mom is full of questions. No surprise there. I have done my fair share of talking today and am more than happy to let Dad answer them. He does so in a graceful and open manner that both calms my mother and appeases me.
        "So what can we do to help?"
        Obviously I need help. But I've never known what to ask for. They can't exactly make food taste good or get me a good night's sleep or make me feel things again. I hesitate.
        "I can't handle stressful things right now. AP tests, swim championships, all of the band activities, even seminary.."
        "It's all optional now," Dad immediately declares. Mom and I both look at him, perhaps a little startled by this sudden solution.
        "AP tests and band field trips are nothing compared to keeping you around. If you don't feel you can handle them, then you don't have to."
        "But Mr. Mack.. and my coach.." I say weakly.
        "I'll talk to Mr. Mack myself," Dad says. "I should give him back the tuba he loaned me anyway."
        "I can call your swim coach," Mom puts in.
        If I'm surprised that Mom is intervening as well, it doesn't last long enough to register over my overwhelming sense of relief. Optional. Everything is optional.
        "Let me consider which activities I think I can handle. I'll get back to you?"
        They nod and Mom squeezes my hand. This morning has seemed like an eternity. Squeezing back, I excuse myself to go take a long and well-deserved nap.

I wanted adulthood before I knew the hell it entailed

JUNE

Three.

My Valedictorian speech. So much work and sacrifice, and I almost didn’t even make it here. Quite literally nearly killed myself over this crap. All my siblings come to my graduation. A damn good speech.

Ten.

Packing, packing, packing. Sorting through old papers and older memories to decide which to pack away and which to bring.

Sixteen.

Spontaneous trip to the beach, dragging along Rose, quite possibly the only person here that doesn't hate me. She is my oldest friend. If only she'd gone to the same school. Stopping on the way home to get a final burrito from our favorite hole-in-the-wall Mexican place.

Twenty one.

A day spent saying goodbye. Rose and a select few others, but also my favorite spots in the city. The pool, the back roads, the second-hand book shop.

Twenty five.

My last day with you. After calling you up and apologizing for our fight, and having you stop me and firmly tell me I have nothing to apologize for.. Starbucks and hoping to God above that I won’t go home smelling like coffee. Just talking, jeez, just talking with you. A tight hug, but nothing like we’ve had before. Wishes of luck on both sides. Driving away without reckless intent.

Twenty eight.

My last minutes with my parents. Mom trying to hide her tears and hugging me for longer than you did. Dad’s dependable “Be nice to everybody,” and my just as dependable response, “learn something new.” Pulling out of the driveway and seeing mom running out of the house, frantically waving something around. Rolling down my window. Tangled. She is giving me Tangled. My turn to tear up and an extra hug for Mom before buckling up.

Thirty.

So many unsaid goodbyes… Tim, Jacob, Daniel, Raechel, Kass..

  

Thirty one.

But actually leaving? Leaving is easy.