Page 109 of Sad Girl Hours
“Some of us thought that,” Vivvie says, coming over to squeeze my arm. “Others were a little more rational and weren’t equating your parents with animated villains.” Her voice drops.“But we were still really concerned. What’s been going on, Saffs?”
I ignore the question, forgoing responding to it by offering one of my own. “What are you— How are you— You’re in my house,” I finish stupidly.
“Correct,” Vivvie says.
“Why?” I say, also stupidly.
“Well, we hadn’t heard from you for ages, and we knew you were probably struggling, and then you said you weren’t coming back and, well…”
Casper takes over from Jenna. “I was getting stressed and imagining all sorts of terrible scenarios. Vivvie got a bit sick of me and said that I should just drive down and see you if I was so anxious, and I decided that wasn’t such a bad idea.”
“He was being very annoying and talking about how this could ‘ruin the tour’,” Vivvie says, rolling her eyes. “Theworldtour. But I was worried too. So when Casper announced that he was leaving and we could come if we wanted—”
“I’d already packed a snack bag,” Jenna contributes.
“—I didn’t really have a choice. I had to come.”
I’m really struggling to process all of this. Vivvie, Casper and Jenna are in my house. Jenna and Casper are now holding hands. They packed snacks. They drove down to see me because they were worried about me. Something else occurs to me that makes me speak for the first time in a while. “Vivvie, your showcase is tomorrow. How can you be here?”
“That’s why we need to get down to business. Are you coming back with us or what?”
“Viv,” Jenna warns, before turning to address me with much more softness. “Wewerehoping you’d think about coming back with us. We’ve missed you, and term’s starting again next week so you’d have to come back again for that anyway and—”
“No.” I feel my whole body go warm as they all stare at me. “I’m not coming back for school.”
“Why not?” Casper looks so earnestly confused (while he scratches Kenneth’s ears).
“I can’t,” I say, my voice packed with the desperation I’m feeling to try to make them understand. “I can’t do it. They were probably going to kick me out anyway, and I can’t face the drive back with my parents for them to just tell me that.”
“What do you mean, they were probably going to kick you out?” Vivvie asks.
There’s no point not telling them things any more. They’re here; they know how bad things are.
“Well, I was really struggling last term, and I missed too many seminars and stuff, and then I also didn’t manage to go to a meeting with my tutor to discuss my attendance. They sent a threatening letter telling me that Ihadto attend a meeting – which is in two days’ time – to talk about things, and I just know they’re going to kick me out. I know it. So, what’s the point of travelling there just for them to tell me that and make me come home?”
They’re all quiet for a few beats, before Jenna tentatively speaks up. “Do uni know about your depression?”
“No,” I say quickly. “I didn’t want them to know anything. They’ll think I’m a liability.”
“Oh, Saffron,” Jenna says softly. “That’s not true.”
“Yeah,” Vivvie says, looking at me with love but also like I’m being stupid as fuck. “You’ve got to unlearn all these shitty ideas about mental-health difficulties being so taboo and shameful. Literally one in four people has a mental-health condition at any one time, so not to be harsh but you’re not special. You think I’ve never struggled with anything? I’m a Latina trans woman from Yorkshire, hun. I’ve known shit mental health. But I got help, Ilearnt how to deal, and even when I do still struggle with things now I’ve found ways to live alongside them and keep going.”
“You are very special in lots of ways,” Casper objects, “but I will admit that I think Vivvie’s right. You’re not the first person that’s ever struggled with their mental health at university. God, it would almost be weird if someone did all three years without having a single breakdown. I have little ones all the time.”
“And if they knew, maybe they could help,” Jenna says. “Or at least be more understanding when you’re struggling to do things.”
“How could they help?” I say despairingly. “They can’t help.”
“They could put in accommodations for you. Like, yes, it’s usually unnecessarily difficult for disabled people or people with mental-health needs to get the help they need, but you’re definitely not going to get any if they don’t know you need it,” Jenna says. “Maybe they could record your lectures if you’re struggling to get out of bed, give you extensions so you can take your time with your work and not feel too pressured, things like that.”
I’d never thought about that before. “I didn’t know they did things like that.”
“Well, they do,” Jenna says definitively. “My tutor knows about my anxiety, so if I get overwhelmed in busy sessions, whoever’s leading the session knows that if I give them a nod and quietly leave then I’m just taking a few minutes to be by myself somewhere quiet. And Nell’s tutors all know she’s autistic—”
Hearing Nell’s name startles me. I look away from Jenna for a second, staring down at the stark cream carpet.
“And they all let her know what things are coming up so she’s not surprised by any changes and don’t bat an eye if she doesn’t look like she’s concentrating, because they know she is; that’s just her way of processing things.”
