Disconsolate

I woke up to the feeling of people intensely staring at me. It was weird. I wanted them to go away, leave me in peace. I don’t want to talk. To remember the terrible events that unfolded last night.

I don’t want to-

“Reya, honey, wake up, we need to ask some questions, and the police would like to see you right now,” my Mother’s voice spoke softly, but deep down I knew she was furious. Her ‘motherly’ tone was all an act at this very moment.

Opening my eyes reluctantly, I took in my surroundings. Two police officers stood at the foot of my hospital bed, one with his arms crossed over his chest and the other with her left hand-palm on the handle of her gun; her right thumb hooked through her belt loop. My Mother sat on my right, curled up in a blanket. And my Father wasn’t anywhere to be found.

I looked down, seeing the I.V’s hooked into my arm and hand and the collection of bandages up my forearms and legs.

“Ma’am, we’d like to ask you to leave-,” the female officer started to speak but was cut off by my Mother’s snippy tone.

“She is my daughter; I have the right-”

I opened my mouth and spoke softly, “Go.” I continued to look down at the I.V’s as she glared at me and stormed out of the room.

“I’m Officer Thorn, and this is my partner, Officer Johnson,” the woman spoke quietly. “Miss, would you like to tell us what happened last night? We found you on your bathroom floor, bleeding out and overdosing.”

“I don’t want to be here,” I looked up then, staring straight at them, “not that I expect you to understand. I’m sure you haven’t had the feeling and the desire to want to drop dead twenty-four-seven. Every moment I’m awake. I can’t remember the last time I was truly happy to wake up and not wish I could be someone else because I hate my own skin. I can’t remember a time when I actually laughed or cried from joy, not just sadness. I don’t remember a time of being happy!” Tears threatened to fall from my eyes, but I refused to break down in front of strangers—police or not.

“Is there anything going on at home?” Officer Thorn asked while moving to sit down in the chair to my left.

I shook my head. “Home is fine. I’m not beat, my parents aren’t divorced, I’m not forced to do anything, and I’m not ever really yelled at. I don’t normally do drugs. This is my second time. That’s it. I do fine at school, somewhat.”

She nodded slightly, focusing her gaze on the hospital sheets. Officer Johnson opened his mouth, closing it a second later, and I spoke up again.

“Depression doesn’t care who you are, doesn’t care if you were the happiest person on the entire damn planet. It’s crushing me, and nobody is there to help me. My Mother thinks that spoiling me with things helps, but it doesn’t. It makes me feel like complete shit because the depression is taking away her money. I have all the latest things, and yes, I’m thankful, but it doesn’t make depression just magically disappear.”