Eccedentesiast
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I was curled up on my bed, scrolling through my dashboard on Tumblr. This was how you would find me anytime of day, and anytime of the night - in my bed on the computer, or possibly reading a book. Occasionally I would go for a walk outside and remind myself that an actual world outside my room existed, but I only did that when I felt like I absolutely needed to get out. When I thought I was going to suffocate from my thoughts.
I closed my computer shut abruptly, put my head back, stretching out my legs and staring up at my blank turquoise ceiling. My delicate fingers brushed the scars from last night on my left arm lightly. My fingers traced each thin cut carefully, closing my eyes.
Images and memories flooded my mind, as I imagined Rosie laughing. I imagined her crying over that one time she failed a math test. I remembered her hunched over her battered old piano, playing swiftly and beautifully as the melody moved her. Lastly, I remembered the letter she had written me – the last letter she had ever written – tucked away in my desk. I had memorized each and every word. I whispered them to myself as I felt my eyes threatening to spill over with tears.
Dear Ella,
I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I let you down. I’m so sorry that I was a horrible best friend. I just can’t stand this anymore. I can’t stand life. I’m not good enough, I’m not pretty enough, I’m not smart enough…
I want you to move on. Don’t let this affect you. I LOVE you, and I don’t want you to suffer because of this. Please don’t.
I’m sorry, Ella. For putting you through this.
Love you forever,
Rosie
Her grief-beaten parents had handed this shakily over to me a couple days after she had done it. I had lost my best friend to the evil monster called depression. She had hung herself, and for that I would never forgive her.
She had left me, and that made me mad. I was mad at Rosie, and I know that that’s selfish, but it was true. And because she wanted me to be okay, I didn’t make any move to get better after she died three months ago. If she let herself go like that, then it should be okay if I do too. I guess it was my way of a sad rebellion.
It was stupid, I admit, and if I had gotten better, I would’ve accepted it, but I wouldn’t try to be happy. I missed Rosie- I loved Rosie - and my life would never be the same again. It was simple.
Of course I was sadder than I was mad, so it’s not like I was depressed by choice.
I was in tears now. Before Rosie died, I had never cried. I was known for my happy and bubbly personality – for always having a smile plastered on my face. Now, it was the summer after senior year, I had no idea what to do with my life, and I didn’t care. I honestly didn’t care if I spent the rest of my sad pathetic life cooped up in my room, on my bed, with my computer. And that thought just made me more sad than I already was.
I waited until my crying slowly died down, and decided to actually go for a walk. Maybe I would eat something too. Just maybe.
I quickly slipped on some black leggings and an oversized cream knit sweater, making sure the sleeves covered my scarred wrists. I put my hair up into a messy bun, and knowing that I had no makeup on, I slipped on my combat boots and stuffed a 5 dollar bill in one shoe, just in case I planned on getting some food.
I then walked out the door of my empty flat.
I lived in England – I had moved here a month after Rosie’s death, to get away from it all. We had just graduated from high school, and I was currently deciding what to do with my life, as I told my parents. In reality, I was running away from everything, and I planned to live like this for as long as I wanted. The new atmosphere didn’t help much, however, as you can tell. I was a mess.
I quickly checked the clock in the kitchen, and noticed that it was only 8 a.m. I must have been up since around 4 in the morning. Huh.
I walked outside, squinting at the bright sun. I chuckled humorlessly a bit, remembering how I had always called Rosie a vampire – she was basically allergic to the outdoors. Well who was the vampire now? How ironic.
I walked around for a while, before deciding on getting a coffee. Just that coffee was the only I had consumed in the past day – I saw no point in eating anymore. I mean, I wasn’t skin and bones or anorexic, I had just lost some weight since Rosie’s death.
I was holding my coffee and walking numbly back home slowly, focusing on the ground I was stepping on, wondering if there was anything that I would like to be doing now, besides staying cooped up with my computer. I didn’t think of anything, so, to my room it was.
All of a sudden I felt a jolt, and a warm liquid seeping through my sweater, my coffee cup leaving my hands. I looked up to find that someone had bumped into me, and my coffee was spilled all over my sweater.
I looked up even more to see a very apologetic young man in jogging clothes with his earphones hanging around his neck.
“I am so sorry love. It was accident. Are you okay? I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.”
I simply nodded my head once, not really planning to talk to him. I didn’t care, anyway. I didn’t seem to care about anything lately. “It’s okay.” I said blankly, reaching down to pick up my coffee cup.
I noticed his eyes flit quickly down to my wrists, noticing my cuts. My shirtsleeves had ridden up. I pulled them down nonchalantly before straightening up.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked again, but this time, the simple question seemed to have a double meaning.
“Yeah. I’m fine.” I said once more, sternly, but still with no emotion.
“I’m Liam.” He gave me small smile, one that I did not return.
“Ella.” I said back, just to be polite.
“Ella.” He tried out my name smiling at it. “You’re not from here, are you? I can tell by your accent.”
“No. I’m not from here.” I answered simply. He waited for me to elaborate, but I didn’t continue.
“Well,” he decided to break the silence. “Ella, I hope we meet again.”
I nodded once more, really thinking sarcastically my head: yeah, that’s gonna happen.
Little did I know, that was actually going to happen.
I closed my computer shut abruptly, put my head back, stretching out my legs and staring up at my blank turquoise ceiling. My delicate fingers brushed the scars from last night on my left arm lightly. My fingers traced each thin cut carefully, closing my eyes.
Images and memories flooded my mind, as I imagined Rosie laughing. I imagined her crying over that one time she failed a math test. I remembered her hunched over her battered old piano, playing swiftly and beautifully as the melody moved her. Lastly, I remembered the letter she had written me – the last letter she had ever written – tucked away in my desk. I had memorized each and every word. I whispered them to myself as I felt my eyes threatening to spill over with tears.
Dear Ella,
I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I let you down. I’m so sorry that I was a horrible best friend. I just can’t stand this anymore. I can’t stand life. I’m not good enough, I’m not pretty enough, I’m not smart enough…
I want you to move on. Don’t let this affect you. I LOVE you, and I don’t want you to suffer because of this. Please don’t.
I’m sorry, Ella. For putting you through this.
Love you forever,
Rosie
Her grief-beaten parents had handed this shakily over to me a couple days after she had done it. I had lost my best friend to the evil monster called depression. She had hung herself, and for that I would never forgive her.
She had left me, and that made me mad. I was mad at Rosie, and I know that that’s selfish, but it was true. And because she wanted me to be okay, I didn’t make any move to get better after she died three months ago. If she let herself go like that, then it should be okay if I do too. I guess it was my way of a sad rebellion.
It was stupid, I admit, and if I had gotten better, I would’ve accepted it, but I wouldn’t try to be happy. I missed Rosie- I loved Rosie - and my life would never be the same again. It was simple.
Of course I was sadder than I was mad, so it’s not like I was depressed by choice.
I was in tears now. Before Rosie died, I had never cried. I was known for my happy and bubbly personality – for always having a smile plastered on my face. Now, it was the summer after senior year, I had no idea what to do with my life, and I didn’t care. I honestly didn’t care if I spent the rest of my sad pathetic life cooped up in my room, on my bed, with my computer. And that thought just made me more sad than I already was.
I waited until my crying slowly died down, and decided to actually go for a walk. Maybe I would eat something too. Just maybe.
I quickly slipped on some black leggings and an oversized cream knit sweater, making sure the sleeves covered my scarred wrists. I put my hair up into a messy bun, and knowing that I had no makeup on, I slipped on my combat boots and stuffed a 5 dollar bill in one shoe, just in case I planned on getting some food.
I then walked out the door of my empty flat.
I lived in England – I had moved here a month after Rosie’s death, to get away from it all. We had just graduated from high school, and I was currently deciding what to do with my life, as I told my parents. In reality, I was running away from everything, and I planned to live like this for as long as I wanted. The new atmosphere didn’t help much, however, as you can tell. I was a mess.
I quickly checked the clock in the kitchen, and noticed that it was only 8 a.m. I must have been up since around 4 in the morning. Huh.
I walked outside, squinting at the bright sun. I chuckled humorlessly a bit, remembering how I had always called Rosie a vampire – she was basically allergic to the outdoors. Well who was the vampire now? How ironic.
I walked around for a while, before deciding on getting a coffee. Just that coffee was the only I had consumed in the past day – I saw no point in eating anymore. I mean, I wasn’t skin and bones or anorexic, I had just lost some weight since Rosie’s death.
I was holding my coffee and walking numbly back home slowly, focusing on the ground I was stepping on, wondering if there was anything that I would like to be doing now, besides staying cooped up with my computer. I didn’t think of anything, so, to my room it was.
All of a sudden I felt a jolt, and a warm liquid seeping through my sweater, my coffee cup leaving my hands. I looked up to find that someone had bumped into me, and my coffee was spilled all over my sweater.
I looked up even more to see a very apologetic young man in jogging clothes with his earphones hanging around his neck.
“I am so sorry love. It was accident. Are you okay? I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.”
I simply nodded my head once, not really planning to talk to him. I didn’t care, anyway. I didn’t seem to care about anything lately. “It’s okay.” I said blankly, reaching down to pick up my coffee cup.
I noticed his eyes flit quickly down to my wrists, noticing my cuts. My shirtsleeves had ridden up. I pulled them down nonchalantly before straightening up.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked again, but this time, the simple question seemed to have a double meaning.
“Yeah. I’m fine.” I said once more, sternly, but still with no emotion.
“I’m Liam.” He gave me small smile, one that I did not return.
“Ella.” I said back, just to be polite.
“Ella.” He tried out my name smiling at it. “You’re not from here, are you? I can tell by your accent.”
“No. I’m not from here.” I answered simply. He waited for me to elaborate, but I didn’t continue.
“Well,” he decided to break the silence. “Ella, I hope we meet again.”
I nodded once more, really thinking sarcastically my head: yeah, that’s gonna happen.
Little did I know, that was actually going to happen.
