2013

I stared at the pills that populated the orange canister, hunched over at my sister’s kitchen counter. I hated that those tiny objects could cause this much impact on me, to make me feel as small as them. I couldn’t take them, though. If I took them, I was handing over what little control I had of myself. It made me feel almost like I wasn’t able to get through this myself, like I should be able to. I was messed up, damaged, maybe beyond repair, but I refused to give myself to those pills. My sister, Kelsey, who had taken me in seven months ago after I was fired, begged me to “Get back on my feet.” Although I couldn’t technically say that she was demanding that I take those stupid pills, I knew what she was implying. What a joke. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing if I never “got back on my feet” like Kelsey was telling me to. After all, how much did I really matter? My parents were dead. I was a burden to my sister and her husband. No close friends, no relationship. I would have preferred real suicide than losing myself to the medication, which, in my opinion, was much, much worse.

“Chloe?” Kelsey poked her head into the kitchen, her three month old son in her arms. I spun around, startled, my hand colliding with the container of pills. They went flying, spilling all over the floor.

“Sorry, sorry,” I said, rushing to collect them and stick them back into the canister. I couldn’t say I was all that guilty.

“It’s alright,” she reassured me. “Did you take them?” I almost felt bad for what I was about to say. She looked so hopeful, trying to believe that her psychopath of a sister would really try.

“Yes. I took them today.”

“Really?” A huge, genuine smile spread across her face. “I’m proud of you, Chloe. You’re going to be fine. You’ll get a job, go back to school, maybe, and find your own place-” She cut herself off as soon as she realized how it had sounded, but it didn’t make much of a difference. It still felt like a weight had been dropped on my chest, strategically balanced on top of the others, bound to suffocate me at some point. “I’m sorry, that came out wrong. You’re welcome to stay here as long as you need to, alright?”

“Yeah,” I responded half-heartedly, running my finger along the rim of the pill bottle. What if I really had taken them this morning? Would it really have changed anything? “Sure.” I brushed past her, grabbed my jacket off of the stair rail, and threw it over my pajama top. “I’m going to take a walk, okay? I’ll be back soon.” Without waiting for a response, I stepped out into the chilly February air. I just wandered. I didn’t care where I was going; I needed a break. I was tired.

I didn’t pay any attention to where I was going until I came upon a secluded cliff that my mother and I used to hike up to every now and then during the summer. We spent hours up there, feeling like we were on top of the world and everything else was too tiny and insignificant to pay any mind to. I took a step closer to the edge. Then another, and another, and another until I was barely on the cliff anymore. I closed my eyes, trying to block out the chaos of the traffic below me, until my mother’s voice filled my head. Don’t do it. I spun around, certain that my mom would be standing behind me, her dark curls brushing her shoulders and her pretty violet eyes staring back at me. Nothing. I looked back towards the edge of the cliff, and back to the empty field. The sounds of the traffic faded away as I walked back the way I came.

2019

“Hey.” I looked up from the collection of photos I had spread out on the floor in front of me to see Kelsey standing in the doorway. “You ready?” I collected the pictures and stuffed them into the pocket of my sweatshirt.

“Yeah.” I looked back at my barren bedroom, empty except for the air of melancholy that still remained.

My sister pulled me into a hug. “I’m proud of you,” she said. “I knew you could do it.”

I laughed. “Just took a lot of all nighters, extra shifts at the movie theater, and six years to get an education and move out.”

“I’m serious. You deserve this.”

“Thank you, Kels. That means a lot.” And I hope I made you proud too, Mom, I thought to myself. Maybe somewhere, somehow, she understood.