When They Ask Why

I forgot my mother's birthday for the first time in my life and I felt awful. I tried in vain to shake
the guilt and shame of what at that point was an honest mistake insignificant really in any scheme or
story let alone a grand one. I liken the feeling to riding a train and watching your stop whoosh by. I
could see myself becoming upset about it but at every turn, when given the opportunity to jump off I
didn't. I couldn't. It was as if I had developed some sick Stockholm syndrome for my wicked thoughts.

My mind went from, "I should probably go for a run to get my head right" to "I'm the world's
shittiest son" and everything in between. I agonized about being bipolar, attributing the stark contrast
in my moods before and after the realization to it because by all accounts every moment leading up to
it was pretty awesome. Id had a great day, it didn't make any sense! My mind chewed on this thought
for some time before it took a sharp turn to me blaming my parents for knowingly passing this brilliant
cursed blade to me.

I called my mom to wish her a belated happy birthday but it didn't ease the pain. She forgave
me instantly, speaking only of how glad she was that Id called and simply asked that I call more often
to make it up to her, because she missed me. Why couldn't she be angry, why wouldn't she yell!?
Where were the guilt trips she was so known for. Where were the pre broken promises and beatings
when I needed them! She only wanted to be close to me, and I hated her for it. She asked why I was
crying and said what she thought would help, Dont worry about it shiyazya, youve never forgotten
before. It only made it worse. YOU LET ME DOWN AGAIN!! I screamed in my head, I needed her to
make it easy for me to resent her. I needed her to give me a reason to feel wronged. If she had, I
could pump the brakes on this ride because you don't feel guilty for forgetting the birthday of someone
you despise, and you don't apologize to the one that just hit you. I wanted her rage and bitterness, I
needed it, now. Instead she loved me like a good mother would. Brushing off my sleight, saying,
"When you get as old as I am, you wish more people would forget".

I swear to god this womans trying to torture me, I thought all the while I wondering why she
chose now to act like this. If this was still the woman who raised me, she had reached a whole new
level of cruel, I mused as she left me to rot in the prison of my mind. I cursed her for not "loving" me
the way she used to when I needed it most. Which only made me feel worse because not only did I
forget her birthday but now Im actively blaming her for my grief, because she was being the mother I
always wanted! What kind of sick joke was this. All these thoughts only gave credence to my original
suspicion, that I was indeed, the worst son.
 That pattern of cyclical thinking repeated itself until it was impossible to find right side up. I felt
like I was caught in a riptide that spun and thrashed me about. To the point where no matter how
desperately I tried, I couldn't reach the surface. Instead, I sank deeper into this depression and those
feelings of helplessness. Soon enough I couldnt leave my bed because my best and only option at
this point was to finish the pain pills I knew were in the cupboard, and wash em down with my bottle of
crown apple and take a nice relaxing bath. It seemed like a nice way to go since we all know how fond
of an oxycodone high I was.

I could already see myself lying in a tub of bathwater that had long since gone cold, seemingly
asleep. The real question was who would find me first? Would it be Dustin, no. He spends the last half
of the week at his parents in Draper or with his daughter. He has always been a good dad, a good guy
all around honestly. No not Dustin, perhaps Kylei? Not likely unless she grew tired of Lobo whining
and scratching at the door or would it be the stench of Lobo's crap to make her questions my
absence? Who could blame him really, his owner hasn't taken him out in days I thought
philosophically. Would that same stench mask the grotesque odor of my water logged body?

There was Ruth but I doubt she would come looking for me at my apartment. She would be
much too busy trying to find coverage for all of my shifts since I hadn't been in for at least 2 days and
she still couldn't find a way to contact me. Tragic as it may be, this wouldnt be the first time she had
been left hanging and probably not the last. That bothered me well enough but for some reason I felt
her least likely to judge or begrudge me for leaving in such a manner. No, she would not find me
because as much as she might miss me she has to protect herself because like always, theres too
much shit to do for her to be breaking down. Her mind would automatically start flipping a series of
switches to or from their off positions in efforts to keep her insulated from the pain and fatigue that was
sure to arrive sooner or later.

What I dreaded the most was that Ciara would be the first one to take note of my absence. No, not the
first to notice but surely the first to come looking for me given the tone of our last conversation. Would
she put to use that CPR training required by the state, all the while partly knowing that it was too late.
How many breaths and compressions before she gave up? 4 and 60, 8 and 120? Or would she simply
call the police? Would she blame herself for not being able to help me before it came to this? Without
a doubt she would, she's too much like me. Perhaps that's why I love her, what does that say about a
person? That they choose the ones they love based on how similar to themselves the individual is. In
any case she cares too much and takes on too much of the weight of the world, and its never, "I
wasnt properly prepared for this". Instead its always, "I suck, I should have tried harder. I should have
been, done better".
 No, I was wrong before she is not like me, shes better than me, and I couldnt do that to her. I
wouldnt do that to her. So I resolved right then that I would not die tonight if for no other reason than
to spare my best friend the guilt that she wouldnt be able to resist placing on her already
overburdened shoulders. I called for Kylei to hide the pills as I wrapped myself up in my bedding. Too
spent to find a more comfortable position and too scared to risk getting out of bed to turn off the light, I
attempted to relax with one arm tweaked behind my back. It would have been too easy once I was
already upright I thought, better not chance it.

Just then I look up to see Kylei walk in, I found the pills she said to me. Oh fuck, I thought,
panicking inwardly. I quickly urged her to hide them, okay she said. No doubt wondering why she
agreed to move in with such weird needy dude. She turned to leave, flipping off the lights and shutting
the door on her way out. That girl, is a fucking saint, was one of the last things that I remember
thinking. My mattress had become my prison and my salvation like a life raft filled with venomous
snakes, I lay as still as I could crying softly until a merciful sleep embraced me.

My hope is that through this short excerpt from my life you can better empathize with those in your
lives dealing with depression, anxiety or even bipolar disorders. Perhaps at the very least get a better
idea of how one shitty thing, no matter how small can take us from 0 to 60 in what, when compared to
our whole lives, is the blink of an eye.

I have never been fond of people comparing what they deal with to what someone else does, but it
was unclear why it bugged me so much. I mean except for the fact that it seemed unfair. Now I know, I
know that our pain, suffering, and the things that cause them arent numbers to be quantified,
balanced on a scale and weighed against one anothers. It all hurts and we all feel it, there is unity in
that and to not be alone in the face of that kind of pain can make all the difference. This is the story Ill
tell them when they ask why so many people choose to take their own lives while so many others do
not. I couldnt tell you whether my reason for staying was sound or logical or just me chickening out.
You may call it whatever you like, but it was good enough for me.

-Damascus D