I look at Christa’s head tilted back in laughter. We were discussing our taste in music from several years back. “I can’t believe I liked that band, it’s terrible. “ She said laughing again. I look at the time. Eleven O’clock. Time really flies when you’re talking. “I have to go to bed,” I sigh. “I’ll talk to you some other time.” “Okay,” She smiles, “bye.” and I click the red button to end the video chat. I shut my laptop and curl up under the sheets. It feels nice to be so tired and to be close to sleep. I quickly drift off.
I stare blankly at the computer screen. I’m tired and my eyes burn. I exit out of the screen and shut my laptop, laying it on the nightstand. I sigh. It’s nice to know I have a friend, a friend I really love, but I can’t always make her happy. I don’t even know when she’s really happy and when she’s really sad. I turn off the lamp on the corner of the nightstand. I fall asleep trying to figure out if I knew Katie in person, would I know if she was okay, or would I still be clueless, or maybe I’m not as good of a friend as I think.
I read her post from the cushioned seat in the library.
I don’t know if I’ll be here tomorrow. I really just don’t want to live. My depression is really bad right now, and I can’t take it. I’m sorry.
I let out a shaky sigh reading the post. “It’s okay,” I think to myself. “She always get’s over this stuff. She’ll be fine.” I comment, “I’m here for you. Feel free to message me. I love you.” I slide out of the dull brown chair and make my way to the front desk. The Librarian, Mrs. James smiles at me as I hand her my two books. “Ah, these look good.” I smile and tell her, I’m sure that they will be wonderful. I walk home kicking pebbles and stepping into piles of dead leaves. She’ll be okay.
That night, I look at the glow in the dark stars stuck to my bedroom ceiling. I think that it would be cool if my ceiling were see-through. Then I think that would actually be terrifying. No telling what I would see. My mind wanders to Katie. She’s such a sweet person. I suddenly want to know why people have to be so cruel to her. Why they can’t love her like I do. Katie and I have been friends for five long years, I met her online, I have never seen her in person., but she’s helped me through everything, and I always try to help her. We are so close to meeting each other, so close. My parents said we might be able to visit Dallas, where she lives, for summer vacation. That’s four months away. Four months. I look at the small clock on my nightstand. One o’clock. I fall asleep looking at the stars and praying to god that Katie will be strong enough to make it through the night.
I look at the stars that night laying out in my small back yard. Normally I would be worried about bugs, but not tonight. Tonight is different. I’ve always loved stars, and tonight they seem to glow brighter than ever. My dad is out, gone with a few friends until sometime in the morning. I tip back the thick mixture of Dr. Pepper and pills. I was sure to get pills from the cabinet that would work. The last thing I see is the stars, brighter than ever, or maybe it’s just me. I don’t really care, I just know it’s very pretty.
I wake up the next morning and get dressed. I jog quickly to the library. When I finally log in I skip going through my feed, and I go right to Katie’s page. Different pictures pop up, all the kind posted when someone passes away. My heart rate quickens. This can’t be happening, this has to be a dream. I realize it’s not when I read a post from a friend of hers that lives near her. Oh God, please no. Please. The post goes on to say she overdosed, that they found her in the back yard, her eyes rolled into the back of her head. Gone. Another post talks about how she was such a sweet angel, and the next says she’s selfish for taking her own life. Selfish. I can’t see right. I’m angry, I’m hurt, and I’m confused. Why would someone call her selfish? Why did she have to do it? Did she know how much I cared, how much I needed her? Why her? Is that why they called her selfish? I log off in a blur of tears and run out of the library. My parents won’t understand, she’s an online friend, and they’ll probably want to know why I care so much. How I could love someone, I’d never seen in person. I run for several blocks, I slow down, but I don’t stop. I don’t know what to do, and soon I find myself at my front door, then buried in the blankets of my twin size bed. I wake up in the dark, and everything comes back to me, I stare at the glowing stars, my sobs growing louder until I burrow into the covers, my knees drawn up to my chest. My hair sticks to my face, and tears scout my face, covering every inch they can find. I don’t bother to look at the time, I just stay under the covers, thinking about all the time we ever spent together. I think back to the first time, how, what website, what we said. Everything. In the end I can only think of how I didn’t try enough. I finally pass out for a hour or so, and when I wake up, it’s because of my mom. “Hurry up sweetie, you’re going to miss the bus!” I get up out of bed, and my eyes water just a bit. I change clothes, and a tear rolls down my cheek. I can’t cry, it’s like I’m a cloud, and after raining, I can’t rain anymore. I finish getting ready, and catch the bus. The entire ride I just stare out of the window, and when I get to school my friends swarm around me, “What’s wrong, Chrissy?” “Nothing.” I say, and I’m left alone. I make it three hours before, in Science, I burst into tears. I don’t ask for permission, I just grab my things and go to the bathroom. The teacher’s pet rounds the corner, and asks if I’m okay. “No,” I tell her. “I’m not okay.” I throw my bag over my shoulder, gasping for air, and walk to the office. I look at the plain lady, who sits at the front desk. “What’s wrong sweetie?” “I need the counselor.” “She’s in a meeting now, go back to class. I’ll call you when she’s out.” “It would be rude to distract all those kids.” I say a teardrop running down my face, “Then sit on the bench outside please.” She says sternly. Within a week I’m on several medications a can’t pronounce, and I have been lectured about the dangers of people online, at the very least, six times. Within four weeks, I’m tired of being fed pills, I’m tired of lectures, I’m tired of the people who look at me like a hurt animal. So one night, I go through the cabinets, I can’t remember what will kill you if you overdose on it, so I just dump bottles of painkiller, and anything else I can find into the blender. I go to the fridge, only to find we’re out of Dr. Pepper. Diet Coke will have to do.
Staring up at the glow in the dark stars on my ceiling, I tip back my own concoction of pills and soda. “Cheers.” I say softly. In the morning, my mother finds not a depressed child, but one that is finally at peace.
What I'm afraid of every time you say things are really bad.