The pavement dug like a million tiny needles into my skin as I lay in the middle of the road. My head throbbed, and I could feel my blood warmly pulsing out of the many open gashes on my body. I didn’t realized how stiff I felt until I tried to move, and it was then that I realized that I had broken my wrist and was bruised all over my body. I couldn’t remember a thing that just happened, but I knew I had to find my brother.
“Vincent?” I called out. “Vinnie?”
No answer.
I was beginning to feel light heated as I felt a huge cut on my forehead pouring out blood, and before I could move from the pavement, I collapsed, and felt the hard crack of my head on the pavement before everything went dark.
~

I threw my hair up in a messy bun as I exited my house to head to my first psychiatrist appointment. I took in and let out a huge breath trying to calm my nerves. As I climbed into my mom’s car, she looked at me, hopeful that I would start up a conversation with her. When I didn’t, I heard my mom sigh and already give up trying to communicate with me. I hadn’t been the same for the past year, and I could tell that her tolerance was about to be up. We exited our gated community and I sunk into my seat and stared at the woodland outside my window. The trees were my favorite part of living in Arkansas, the way they always stood strong yet changed colors constantly. There were shades of yellow, orange, and red, and the leaves fell as if they were falling in love with the ground.

By the time I made it into the doctor’s office, I could feel myself start to nervously perspire. I didn’t want to talk about what I had gone through, or why I was here and why I needed the medicine. I didn’t want to remember what happened that night.
I tried to stop thinking about it, but it was too late.
The panic attack began at the back of my head, a static burning feeling in the shape of a ball erupted. I felt a loud buzzing in my head, like there was a beehive residing in my brain. My whole body felt like it was tingling and I began to shake as I closed my eyes and tried to calm myself down. I went to pull my legs into the fetal position, and I could feel my mom’s questioning stare burning into me; but my attack was interrupted by a knock on the door.
“Hi Veronica, I’m Dr. Smith. How are you today?”

I felt the tremors stop and my brain and body began to calm down.

“I’m… fine.” I replied as my breathing calmed and my heart rate steadied.

“It says on your medical sheet that you’re here to look into anti-depressants. Why is that? Talk to me a bit about that.” She coaxed me on with gentle words and a soft tone.

I looked at my mom for help, but she just raised her eyebrows and looked me in the eyes; I knew she would want me to talk about it for myself. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, feelings every vision, emotion and every ounce of pain poured into my veins like a flash flood.

I remembered my older brother, Vincent, asking me if I wanted to go on a ride with him, and me saying yes. I loved that he was showing me attention instead of ignoring me as usual. I remembered laughing as we raced to his Jeep Wrangler, his dream car. I never noticed any bad driving habits, but I knew he liked to go a little over the speed limit. We were zooming down the highway, music blaring, laughing and having a good time. The windows were down, and the sun warmed my face as the wind blew through my hair. I paid no attention when Vincent went to check his phone, it wasn’t an unusual occurrence. Suddenly we veered left, and my body pressed against the seatbelt as it locked up to keep me in my place. My head whipped forward and lashed back, then veered right, smashing into the window, slicing open the side of my scalp right above my ear. I brought my hands up to cover my face as I felt gravity shift, and begin to pull on my head instead of my feet. I was too scared to open my eyes because I already knew we were flipping. The airbag deployed and smacked into my forearms, creating a cluster of bruises instantly. The only thing I couldn’t remember was when we stopped rolling; I was nearly unconscious.

I felt the hairs on my arms raise up as I answered, “I was in a really bad car accident.” I fuzzily remembered waking up in the hospital; my arms sore from the many bruises, my head thumping from the huge gash, and my whole body feeling like broken glass.

“Okay sweetie,” Dr. Smith noted, “How has this lead to depression for you?”

I took a quick, sharp breathe, and prepared myself for the pain. Before I went fully unconscious and was bussed to the hospital, I was awake enough to know I had to find out if my brother was okay. I remember crying out for him, yelling “Vincent!” and “Vinnie!” over and over. Blood dripped in my face from my many cuts, and my head throbbed, making it hard to think or focus. I used the last bit of strength I had to carefully unbuckle myself and not collapse to the side, considering we had not landed right side up. Crawling out of the damaged vehicle, I stumbled around on all fours searching for my brother. I couldn’t understand why he wasn’t in the car like I was. Calling Vincent’s name over and over became less like an action and more like breathing.

“Veronica…” I heard Vincent’s voice struggling to call my name from a few feet away. I heard small movement among the crushed car parts and I pulled myself towards my brother. He was completely torn up, cuts and bruises covering him entirely. He tried to move to me too, but his leg was stuck under a part of the car, so I made him stop and went to hold his upper torso in my lap.

“Ronnie… I’m so s-sorry…” he murmured as a few tears trickled down his face.

“It’s not your fault!” I exclaimed as I started to bawl. And then it happened.

It was something I had never experienced before, and I hoped to never experience again. Vincent’s body felt so cold to me, and I couldn’t tell if it was the temperature, or me, or him. I looked him over and saw all the blood seeping and oozing from the many cuts and gashes on his body. His breathing was irregular, and he wheezed as if every breathe was a battle. Suddenly, a disturbing gurgle came from Vincent’s chest, and the rising and falling of his chest ceased. I sat there silently, tears rolling down my face.

I brought myself back to my doctor’s question, and replied, “I watched my brother die. He died in my arms and… I can’t stop seeing it. Anytime I think about it I have a panic attack. I can’t seem to get over it; every day I feel stuck in a grieving period and I’m unable to cope.”

“Have you ever tried to self-harm, Veronica?” Dr. Smith prompted, “Or any attempts at suicide?”

Visions of blades dancing across my wrist, leaving a trail of sparkling blood played through my mind. I thought about the many nights I stayed up alone and let my depression eat at me, and consume my body and my thoughts from the inside out. The way it took me over from slithering through my veins and enveloping my brain and thoughts was too romantically sad for me to stop it all on my own. I felt every tear I had ever shed on those nights build up behind my eyes when she asked me this question. Admitting all these things was the last thing I wanted to do, but I knew I had to.

I looked up at Dr. Smith and nodded slowly, not making direct eye contact. She stood and walked over to me, resting a hand on my shoulder.

“Sweetie, it’s okay. I see kids that feel the same way as you every single day. You’re not alone, and you should never feel like you are. It’s okay to not be able to get over things; you went through something very traumatic and it’s not always easy to overcome things like that. We all mourn things and have off emotions, but some of us need a little help from an outside source. That’s completely okay.” Dr. Smith smiled at me when I looked up at her. I nodded slowly, thinking about what she said. I didn’t feel like I had anyone to turn to, and going on an antidepressant was the last thing I wanted to do. I didn’t want to be one of those kids.

After Dr. Smith wrote out a prescription for me, she handed it to me and said, “I promise, you’re not alone, and your brother would be proud of you for getting help.”

I walked out of the medical building feeling somber, and slightly numb. I knew that I didn’t want to feel the depression eating at me through my veins anymore, but I didn’t want to be on medicines to be happy. I could hear my brother’s voice in my head telling me that everything would be okay, and that he would always be there for me, like he always reminded me when I was down. For the first time in a long time, I actually had the hope I needed to start to feel better.