Anxiety. Depression. OCD. Bipolar.
I was diagnosed with these things when was nine. Or maybe I was eight? I don’t remember.
I remember it was very cold the day it began. It was really, really cold. I found that strange, because the day before it was really hot. Really, really hot. When I woke up shivering, I wrapped a blanket around my small frame and waddled to nearest window (I say waddle because I sprang my ankle earlier in the week). I pushed a little beanbag to the window and climbed on top of it and I just watched.
Then I was puzzled. My next-door neighbor was sitting in her lounge chair in really, really, really, short shorts. And she was fanning herself.
I know this doesn’t mean anything, but see, it was a contrast. It’s cold in here but hot out there? No way in Ponyville (a my little pony reference—that was my favorite show at the time).
Not much about that day made sense to me, but—
“Good morning,” a low voice says from behind me.
I look over my shoulder. “Morning.” I say to my dad.
“You’re up early,” he comments, moving to the coffee machine.
“Yeah, the insomnia started kicking in.”
He nods. “Understandable. Elijan said you had a nightmare last night.”
I roll my eyes. “A flash from the past,”
I watch my dad’s robotic movements as he makes himself some coffee. I smile softly at him, chuckling under my breath.
“What?” he says, looking back at me.
I close my journal before standing. “Nothing,”
I’m about to leave the room before he says, “You have an F in music class, by the way.”
“Yeah. She wanted me to sing in from of the class. Double negative.” I respond.
“Well, maybe you should sing a song or two.” I meet his gaze. “You’ve avoided anything that reminds you of your mother so far.”
“I have not—”
“Adeline, the nightmares, the insomnia. Did you have those symptoms when Laila was alive?”
“And don’t think Elijan hasn’t told me about you not taking your pills. You know what your mom would say if she was here.”
“Yeah, well, if she was here, she would be the one giving it to me, not the other way around.” I snap.
Damn. And we were getting along just fine.
I run a hand down my face. “Dad, I’m fine.”
He opens his mouth to argue, then closes it. He sighs heavily before saying, “Just bring that F up.”
I give him a curt nod and quickly walk away. I jog up the stairs to my ladder before climbing it. I stand in the center of my room, my breaths coming in quick. I move toward my desk and open my journal. Instead of continuing what I was writing earlier, I flip to a new page.
my dad says I’m avoiding thinking about you. in a sense., its true. you know how much I hate doing things alone, mom. and now you left me? really, to deal with this all by myself? the truth is, everywhere I look I’m reminded of you. the beauty in our landscape, the musical laugh I hear across the courtyard, the calculating gaze that floats across a room—mom, I see you everywhere.
why does that scare me?
Things That Remind Me of My Mom, I write on the next line.
My breathing has slowed enough that I’m calm. I stare at the list I made with satisfaction. Adding one more thing to the list, I close my journal and start getting ready for school.
I don’t think this chapter is too short… hmm.. 589 words in word so…
hope you love it!
xoxo, your city rose