Page 77 of Perfectly Us
Although we live in different parts of the country, I keep in touch with some of the people I met during the summer program last year.
Felisha, a girl who cut her upper thighs so no one would see, is about to start college, and she’s excited. She’s an artist and posts pictures of her digital art and paintings on Instagram. Her style is on the darker side and focuses heavily on the psychological, but she’ll occasionally haveAlice in Wonderland–type vibes with vibrant colors and whacky characters.
Zach, who thought popping a handful of his mom’s prescription pain meds would make the pain inside him go away, is in a band now. He plays the drums. I listened to some of their songs, and while heavy metal isn’t my style, it gives him an outlet to express himself.
There’s also Justin, a baseball player who never attempted suicide but thought about it a lot, and Rachael, who was caught standing at the edge of a bridge, holding onto the rail as she leaned as far out as she could. She said she wanted to fly away.
All of these people are different, but we all share something important. We survived. And we continue to fight every day to keep surviving.
I receive a Facebook message.
Justin:I saw your post about dating that Alex guy. I’m happy for you! It must’ve been scary to come out, but I’m proud of you. Really.
Me:Thanks. How are you? You got a baseball scholarship, right?
Justin:Yeah! I’m stoked about it. Practices have already started. It’s challenging but I love it. Can’t believe it’s already been a year since camp.
Me:Me either.
A lot has changed in a year. In some ways, I don’t feel much different. Therapy and medication both help, but they don’t magically fix everything. I’m a work in progress, and some days the path is more of an uphill climb than an easy walk in the park. But I’m happy with where I’m headed.
Justin:Did you hear about Trey?
Trey’s big toothy grin instantly comes to mind. He was always cracking jokes and making us laugh.
Me:No, I haven’t. What’s up with him?
Justin:I saw his mom post a few days ago. He ate a bullet. Funeral was this morning.
My gut clenches, and tears spring to my eyes.
Me:Fuck.
Justin:It fucking sucks. Out of everyone, I thought he was good, you know?
I think of how Alex smiles sometimes, even when he’s hurting on the inside. He doesn’t want to worry the people around him. Maybe Trey was like that too. Putting on a mask to hide the pain.
Me:You doing okay?
Justin:Yeah. I talked to him last week. He seemed fine. Just a shock. I’m still tryin to process it.
Me:I’m here if you need to talk, okay?
Justin:Same to you, man. I gotta head to practice now. Ttyl.
My heart thrums faster as I look at the drawer in the center of my desk. There’s a lot of junk shoved inside, mostly old receipts I hold on to for some dumb reason and a few journals with chicken-scratch writing. There’s something else too, buried at the very bottom, hidden.
A knock sounds at my door.
“Hey, kiddo, you up?” Dad asks. “Breakfast is ready if you’re hungry.”
“Be right down.”
I don’t look at the drawer again. I throw on some jeans before leaving my room and meeting Dad downstairs.
Jesse’s sitting on a barstool at the kitchen island, sipping coffee. He’s dressed in another nice suit and expensive shoes that shine a bit. He’s a real estate agent. With his good looks and natural charm, I’m sure he could sell trees to a forest.
“Morning,” Jesse says to me.
