CHARLOTTE'S POV
DECEMBER 26TH

If life depended on living, why are there so many things that get in the way? Whether it be cancer, drugs, alcohol, bulimia, depression, life. Life can somehow get in its own way. Is life worth living if life itself gets in the way of living? Maybe life wasn't meant to be lived. Otherwise, we'd live as long as people did in Jesus' time. At least six hundred years.

There'd be less killing and fighting. There'd be less alcoholics and less fathers and mothers that became such. There would be less people that gave up on their families because they were being selfish and incapable. Incapable of loving someone other than themselves.

Maybe that's the root of drug and alcohol addictions. Finding love in a tube or plastic bag or even a bottle because you'd rather give that love to inanimate objects other than the person that could love you back. Yourself. Truthfully, no one can love you more than yourself. And no one can love you if you don't love yourself. No one is from the Nicholas Sparks novels, at least not most people. If you can't love yourself, don't expect to be able to love someone else or have them love you.

Sadly, love isn't charitable. You can't just give love away. If you can, you have to look deep and see, is that really love you're giving out? Or is it pity and sympathy that is enough to seem like love? Bottles of once clear liquid that scattered the floors seemed like love. Puffs of intoxicating smoke that escaped lips seemed like love. Tingling feeling in your nose of the white powder seemed like love.

But it just wasn't enough.

That empty bottle doesn't love you. It hates you. It wants to kill your liver and eventually you. That empty bag of substance doesn't love you either, it hates you. The chemicals race to your brain cells until every last one is gone, until it kills you. That temporary love you feel is what it is, temporary. Non-existent. At the end of the day, if you can't love, what makes you think an inanimate object can?

When the day is over, that bottle is empty, the bag is on the ground and your nose turns red and starts to ache, that temporary, non-existent love is gone again. Bringing back the things that have a part in that hatred of yourself only lessens the love you have for yourself.

This is no longer about whether you're in love with your body or your hair or what you wore to school that day. No, it's about if you respect yourself enough as a person to love what is on the inside and not what others see on the outside.

That's what I thought about while my hands lifted my chin and my knee uncontrollably bounced. Liz never loved herself as much as I did. Celia came, no one else did. Frankie had to take Nonna back to America early to see a doctor. It was probably also because he couldn't see Liz like that, whether he hated her or not.

Celia placed her hand on my knee to stop its bouncing and I took my chin from my hands and rested it on her shoulder. When I looked on the chart, it said she'd overdosed. Naming all the drugs must have been impossible since they put "etc." at the end. "Etc." is never good.

Her eyelids moved and we both knew she was waking up. As selfish as it sounds, we wanted to see her blink once before calling for the nurse. She did and her eyes moved over to us. The shock in her face of her surroundings couldn't be described in words. Not even a full paragraph could explain how shocked and ashamed she was. When I found I could no longer look at her, I pushed the button for the nurse.

She walked in with water, ice, and a tray of soft foods. "How're you doing, Elizabeth?" The nurse asked. She was a kind lady with blonde hair and had an Irish accent mixed with a bit of posh. Somehow, that sounded attractive on her. Her face didn't have much makeup since it wasn't needed, she was naturally beautiful. Although she could have used a bit of foundation for the growing bags under her eyes. Liz responded with a moan. "That's good."

"Where am I?" It was a rhetorical question. Everyone knew it was since the beeping machine and nurse's badge was visible but the lady answered anyway.

"The hospital. These two girls have been here since yesterday, bless their hearts."

"What's today?" Liz attempted to sit up but laid back down when the pain hit her.

The lady put the straw in her mouth to sip, "The day after Christmas, love." And she exited, but not before I got a look at her name tag. Carla White.

Celia pushed herself up from her seat and pulled me with her, even though I didn't want to go. "Why did you lie to us?" asked Celia. Hurt was evident in her tone and you could sense the tears. "Why did you say you stopped when you hadn't?!" Her mood changed from hurt to angry. I pulled her back to her seat to cool off.

Liz pursed her lips and scratched her damaged nose. There was a patch over it, probably to save it from collapsing. "Nice job." I mumbled.

"Where's Frankie? Nonna, Grandpa?" She'd always called my family hers since hers didn't care too much about her.

"Frankie and Nonna went back home." She waited for me to mention Grandpa but knew what'd happened when I didn't bring it up. "Cancer," I whispered.

Liz didn't know how much it hurt to see another person you love lie in a hospital bed once again. "I'm sorry," her eyes traveled away and found a neat spot on the wall to focus on. "I wasn't there. I'm sorry I wasn't there."

A small yelp came from Celia in the corner, she was crying. I was done crying. I had no more tears left. No remorse left. No emotion. Liz looked away again and Celia continued crying. Each in their own world. I was in mine, too. I imagined everything being perfect. Everything just the way I wanted it to be, no hurt or sadness. But I knew that wouldn't happen and it hurt. It hurt real bad.

---

Celia and I had to leave after visiting hours were over. Plus, Liz had to get her stomach pumped again and we weren't allowed to stick around. When we got home, a flower was on the doorstep along with a wet note. At least a few hours old. It was from Louis and said that he wanted to take me to work once break was over and to let him know when I go back.

Celia raised her eyebrows suggestively and I slapped her arm lightly. I put on fuzzy pajamas and braided my hair to the side after a long shower. I'd never figured out a permanent style for myself. One day it could be down and the next half up.

Taking my place next to the window sill, I pulled my writing journal from beneath the curtain and began to drift away. Away from all the pain and suffering. Away from the life I wish I could give back.

Notes

Before you read my notes, I want to say, yes, I'm a Christian. Not that that concerns you. I just hope the mention of Jesus doesn't bother any of you and if it does, I'll consider changing it. Sorry.

Lost a subscriber.. that's cool. Might triple update today, man, that's a record for me. But only because the chapters have been getting shorter and this is only part one.