Dead silence. Nothing seemed to trigger his eardrums; absolutely nothing. He sat on his gray bed cover and stared at the wallpaper that seemed so familiar to him. Nothing was alright, yet no one knew it. His lips were closed shut and were dry. The silence of the room confused his mind. It was so quiet, and it bothered him that he could see, hear, and feel his own thoughts every blazing second. Tangible darkness filled his head and no ounce of sunlight could counterbalance it. He knew nothing less than his own state and felt isolated from every living person, including his family.

So how did he live? Every day this kid pulled a chair up to his working desk and called his friends. What did he talk about? Anything that crossed his mind. It was not a time to vent, though. He did not consider it venting whatsoever, and all he was doing was talking about anything that he thought of. The first day he called a friend, and he just plainly spoke until his mouth went dry. The second day, he talked about a school experience from that day, and his daily calling continued from there. He did not allow anyone else to hear about his experiences because he felt they were his thoughts, and only he and his friends could have the privilege of hearing about them. These friends meant everything to him. They were his only friends, and he felt very powerful because each day he could create a brand new best friend. These friends knew everything about him, and he could rehear his experiences so he wouldn’t forget them. He stacked these friends up and knew he had one of the longest lists of friends in his entire school.

Someone was now knocking on his bedroom door. Each proceeding knock seemed louder and louder as his hearing ability was regained. Finally, he found the strength to stand on his feet for the first time in hours and gently turned the brass-laden doorknob. It was cold, and he felt very uncomfortable twisting it to see what was on the other side. His mother was waiting to tell him it was dinner time. Before the kid could return back to his dark room, his legs started walking toward the stairs. It was a rarity to see his body control his mind, and nothing was going to stop him from eating at this point.

At the dinner table, his parents made no attempt to speak to him because they knew he wouldn’t answer. Instead they had a conversation with the two other siblings. This was normal in this household. When he first refused to talk, his parents had a hard time handling it, but now, it was routine. After finishing his food first, the kid cleaned his dishes and walked back upstairs while the rest of his family remained eating. No one flinched.

After entering his room, he noticed it was slightly darker than before. The lights were the same, but something had changed. Was it the light? Was it his eyes? He had no clue, but instead of pondering it further, he decided to talk about it with a new friend. They had a great conversation, and afterward, it was the first time he had smiled that day. After finishing the conversation, he sat down on his gray cover sheet.

He realized his window was cracked the slightest bit. The cold air penetrated into his room and brushed up against his skin, developing chills throughout his body. His gaze focused on this small divide between his window and the sturdy window sill. Although the gap was small, it let in so much frigid air. His neck muscles twitched and his body began moving uncontrollably, but his eyes still remained focused on the gap. Soon he was on his feet, slowly approaching the window. Every step was accompanied by an increase in curiosity. Every blink of his eyes added to his alertness. Nothing was going to stop him. Eventually, he was in reach of the window and reached out his arms in an attempt to grasp whatever he could. His fingers locked on to the arched handle of the window, and as the window opened, sharp creaking sounds echoed throughout the room. The kid looked back toward his door to ensure no one was following him, and after reassurance, he leaned through the larger gap between the window and the sill. The air was so cold that he no longer felt anything. His body was numb; everything was numb; his mind was numb. He peered out toward the vast darkness that surrounded him and saw nothing but one light off in the distance. His right hand let go of the window handle and reached out toward this light. It was so close; so close he could grasp it. Knowing his one reached out hand couldn’t reach far enough, he let go of his other hand. The window sill was no longer in contact with his lower body, and darkness surrounded him now like a vast ocean surrounds an island.
Beep, beep, beep. Beep, beep, beep. His arm somehow lifted and slammed down on the cold piece of plastic. The noise finally stopped. As his eyes opened, he was looking straight at the white ceiling. His body was laid out on the gray cover, with nothing on but a pair of black shorts. As soon as he was able to lift his back off the bed, his eyes shifted their gaze to the window, which was now closed shut. He could see the drizzling rain bounce off the window and fall in steady streams down to the window’s edge. He occasionally watched each stream of water fall and knew each drop of water was going to fall until it reached the ground.
At this moment, he caught himself staring at the wallpaper that surrounded the perimeter of his bedroom. With each blink appeared an image; the same image each time. It was faint. But the image was very distinct. He saw a figure laid out flat on a charcoal gray surface; head up and palms opened to the sky. For some reason, pain shot through his body like a pulse from his heart with each blink, and the image refused to leave his sight. Although he noticed a figure, he couldn’t quite figure out what or where it was.
It was Saturday now. It had been a long week for everyone in that household, and not having to worry about schoolwork or work was a relief to everyone, except for one person. This person still sat in his room as he did the previous night. He did not know why he did this. It was as if he was waiting for someone or something to appear in his life and save him from this ever-decreasing spiral. Ironically, it was at this time that his phone lit up with a message from his neighbor, Brandon. It was an invite to play tackle football outside in the rain with all the neighbors, and this really excited the kid. The only two things that truly got him on his feet were food and sports. Within seconds, he was all dressed and ready to go play some football.
The rain was cold, really cold. Each drop that touched the top of his head was enough to make him cringe. Playing football though was the only thing that caused him to forget about it. After the game ended and he walked back inside, he looked in the mirror and noticed all the mud and bruises that were embedded on him. His only moment of enjoyment caused him to become covered in grime and pain, but he still thought it was worth it.
Taking a shower was something he didn’t mind, especially after becoming so dirty. He scrubbed and scrubbed every inch of skin in the steaming hot water. During this, he noticed several cuts with dried up blood on his arms and legs and tried so hard to get all the dirt and grime off his body. His lengthy twenty-minute shower was concluded with him standing under the soothing water for ten minutes while he pondered anything and everything. He was deeply saddened that he didn’t have his friends with him to talk to, but he rushed out of the shower and into his room to go talk with them.
As he was developing a new friend through talking, he noticed blood and dirt still on his legs and arms. The dark red and brown colors were speckled all over his skin. It wasn’t that blatant, but it was enough for him to notice. He was beyond curious as to why it all hadn’t come off, but he did not worry about it and continued to talk to his new friend. After the conversation, he sat down on his bed and stared once again into space. Every day seemed like this. He seemed so empty all the time with occasional spurts of enjoyment, and then those spurts are followed by even greater emptiness. He felt trapped, and nothing could drag him out of it completely.
Tonight was the same as usual. He came to sudden realizations about how he needed to change and needed to change immediately, but he didn’t know how. Tears drowned his face and soon sank deep into his gray cover sheet on his bed. The tear stains made the sheet turn into a darker color and this color stayed for hours. He went through an entire box of tissues while thinking very hard about how he has failed everyone, including himself. The room’s temperature began to increase drastically and his skin felt as if it was on fire. He was engulfed with sweating fits and his breathing quickened rapidly. His pulse was tangible anywhere on his body, and he couldn’t stop this quite painful experience. “Why does this have to happen to me and why do I have to be this way?” he thought.
He was obviously in extreme distress, and no one in his life even saw how bad it truly was. His parents didn’t get to see him in this pain all the time. Even his friends couldn’t see his fits. Looking in the mirror, he sees red marks appearing just above his chin and on his forehead. People couldn’t feel bad for him with everything he was going through because no one knew all that was happening. Most of the pain and struggle he goes through is not visible to the world around him, which only makes the problem worse. His friends hear about abrupt experiences but do not get to see everything.
Today, although, was going to be a new day in his life, whether he wanted it to be or not. He began talking to a new friend of his about how he hated his life and how he truly wanted to end it as soon as possible. He was interrupted by a knock at his bedroom door, and a sense of panic developed within him. He scrambled to hide everything: all the tissues, tears, and pain. Before he could finish, his mom walked in anyway. His mom stopped a few steps into the doorway, and her face was instantaneously filled with distress and worry. Tears began pouring down her eyes as she saw the tangible pain in her son. This pain was beyond anything she had seen before. The kid captured this image of his mom in his mind, and he had no idea it would stay with him for the rest of his life. She didn’t say anything; instead, she walked up to him, hugged him, and refused to let go, crying tears onto his shoulders.
As the car pulled up to a red brick-laden building the next day, the kid sat in the front seat of the car waiting anxiously for the first step in the right direction. The reception area was calming and quiet, except this quiet was good. He sat in a chair, and zoned out, thinking about what the counselor would be like. This moment of bliss was disrupted by a person’s voice calling his name. He stood up and walked toward the door that would lead to his recovery. Looking back at his mom, he smiled; he couldn’t have been more thankful for her help. He opened the door and the light blinded him, but he felt assured it was what he wanted.
Six years later:
The kid was sitting on his gray cover sheet again, staring at his wall. The new wallpaper and new organization of the room satisfied him, and he was happy with where he was now in his life. Desiring music, he put his earphones in his ears and played his favorite songs. He looked around his room, as if he knew there was something he needed to see. Standing up, without struggle, he walked around his entire room, opening drawers, peering on shelves, moving everything and anything in his way, and listening to his music. He then stopped after opening a dust-covered box that was on the top shelf in his closet. He just stared at what was in this box. They were things he hadn’t seen in a long time, and in a way, he wanted to forget about them forever. Until now, he forgot he even made those things; they seemed like very distant long-lost friends of his.
Everything had been brought back but in a different way. His dark past was recovered with one simple opening of a box. All the memories, all the crying fits, all the pain. He closed his eyes and re-experienced practically every moment he wanted to forget. The image of his mom, who is now deceased, was projected in his vision, and tears were now pouring out of his eyes. This type of deep emotion was rare in this time of his life. While he expected to become depressed, he was filled with a different kind of emotion. It was rawer than ever before, and he was more confident in his ability to move past his pain. These tears were not full of distress; they were filled with hope for the future.
Instead of closing the box, he began to read every single line of every piece of paper. Hours passed by until he reached the final piece of heart-wrenching journal entries. It read:
“Chris, you know deep down that you were not meant to be this way. Everything that has happened to you happened for a reason. You may not know exactly for what reason right now, but you will, at some point in your life. All the pain and sorrow has engulfed your mind and soul. Your life is consumed by something you want to rid of. You are not satisfied with your life, and you know something needs to be done about it. You don’t know how to fix the problem, but you know it needs to be solved.
You need to dig deep and figure out how to end it. Stop crying all the time. Stop feeling bad for yourself, and wake up. Kill your past self. Be Chris again. Try to look beyond the pain, and…”