Happy little Depression
The weight of grief felt like a physical thing, a leaden ache settling in the bones. It had been days since I’d truly felt present, just drifting in a haze of exhaustion and raw pain. I wondered if this was what it meant to be broken.
I woke up. Or rather, I allowed myself to surface from the depths of sleep, a reluctant swimmer dragged ashore by the tide. The sunlight, usually a welcome guest, felt intrusive, harsh against my swollen eyes. Birds chirped, oblivious to the wreckage inside me. How dare the world be so beautiful when mine had crumbled? All I wanted was to burrow back under the covers, to disappear into the oblivion of sleep.
Slowly, I swung my legs over the side of the bed, feet landing on the cool wood floor. I stared at the wall, a blank canvas reflecting the emptiness within. Numbness had settled in, a dull ache replacing the initial shock. It felt like someone had ripped my heart out, replaced it with a hollow stone. One foot in front of the other, I shuffled down the stairs, each step an act of deliberate effort.
“Hi, Boo. How are you feeling today?” Alice’s voice was a burst of sunshine, and she wrapped me in a tight hug. She always tried so hard.
“My heart hurts,” I managed to choke out, the words catching in my throat. “It feels like…like when I saw her name on his phone, my entire world just fractured.” The memory slammed into me, a wave of nausea washing over my chest. It felt like an eighteen-wheeler had run over me, leaving me broken and bleeding, yet somehow still breathing. A hollow ache bloomed in my chest, a terrifying emptiness. I felt like if I took a deep breath, my body would simply shatter. I wanted to know if *he* hurt like this. If he’d cried, if he’d felt even a fraction of the agonizing despair that consumed me. Most of all, I wanted to know if he felt guilty. He'd cheated. He’d told me he loved me, then turned around and betrayed me. He’d promised forever, and apparently, forever had an expiration date. Alice started to rub my back, slow and gentle, murmuring quiet reassurances.
“Don’t worry, Marie. It will all be okay.” She meant well, but her words felt like empty platitudes. Nothing could fix this. Nothing could ever fill the gaping hole he’d ripped in my heart.
“Alice, it’s not okay,” I sobbed, pushing away from her hug, needing space to breathe. “Ethan has been cheating on me for…for almost two months.” I stumbled back towards the stairs, desperate to escape the suffocating warmth of her sympathy.
“Where are you going, Marie?” she asked, concern etched on her face. I turned around, mascara smudged beneath my eyes, tears streaming down my cheeks.
“I’m going back to bed. I don’t feel like eating.” The thought of food felt nauseating, a distant, irrelevant need. I didn’t want anything. I just wanted to disappear. I retreated to my room, pulled the curtains closed, shrouding the room in a suffocating darkness, and crawled back under the covers. I fumbled for the remote, clicking on the TV, the bright colors a jarring assault on my senses. I hated how easily others found joy. I hated how effortlessly they moved through life while I was trapped in this suffocating grief. I felt hollowed out, worthless. A gaping void in my chest that nothing could fill. The news channel flickered to life, showcasing a boy band interview. A close-up of a handsome face, radiating effortless charm.
“Hi, I’m Harry Styles. I’m eighteen years old and I will be hosting the new game show, ‘Who Will I Date?’ airing tonight at eight. Make sure to tune in.” He smiled, perfect and dazzling. A flicker of hope, foolish and fragile, sparked within me. Maybe someday, somehow, I’d find someone who wouldn’t shatter my world. I pulled up the TV guide and recorded his show. I flipped through the channels, settling on the saddest movie I could find, letting the melancholy wash over me. I stared at the screen, barely registering the images, my gaze drifting to the framed photo on my nightstand – a picture of Ethan and me, beaming with youthful optimism. I snatched it up and hurled it against the wall. The glass shattered, shards scattering across the floor like fragments of a broken promise. I pulled the covers over my head and wept. Why was this happening? We were supposed to be celebrating our two-year anniversary this week, and now…he’d betrayed me. He’d said they were “just friends,” but a few weeks ago, when he’d been over, I’d grabbed his phone, pretending to check Facebook. Instead, I’d scrolled through their messages, a horrifying realization dawning with each line. They’d been talking for months, a secret world unfolding while I’d been blissfully ignorant. How could he tell me he loved me, then turn around and seek solace in another woman’s arms? Was I simply not enough? Was this what I got for falling in love at fifteen? I couldn't believe how naive I'd been. We’d met during a dark time, and he’d helped me through it. Now, I felt foolish for believing his promises.