6AM on a Friday

I wrote this during the first year I was diagnosed with depression.

I sat there at my laptop. It was 5:38 am on a Friday. Staying up this late had been nothing new for me. In fact, I kind of liked it. The serenity and peace of it all. Not many people stir at this time of the morning/night, but I do. Sitting got boring for me, so I stood up and stretched. The bed beckoned me and in the back of my mind I knew the later I went to sleep, the later I would wake up. That didn't move my body into the bed, instead I walked to the window and stared outside. The lights in the quad illuminated a dead landscape. The trees had shed their leaves last month, just in time for winter. I could relate to the trees in a way. I too was bare, bare to the world. It had been the first time my outer layer had ever been stripped away. For years,my outer layer had protected me, protected my true self from the outside world. Instead of being nice and caring to people, I was cold and cruel. Instead of hugs, I threw punches. Instead of jokes, I slung insults at anyone. Why was I so damn mean to the world? Why was I so damn mean in general? I avoided these questions by snuggling deeper into my layers. This year was different though. This was the first time I knew him.

 

Who was he? To this day, I could give a thousand descriptions and all of them wouldn't describe him accurately. He was taller than me. He was more cunning than me. He was more attractive and wealthier than me. Yet,he loved me. All he asked was for me to take off my layers. At first, I was reluctant. I had never taken off any of my layers, not even for family members. And who did he think he was? Then he showed me his layers, which laid in the back of his closet. They were dusty, old, and to the normal eye looked near thrown away. Taking inspiration from him, I took my layers off and cast aside the doubt that rose faster than a space rocket.

 

And that was the beginning of the end.

 

It was like the world has sent him to take me down. Once the layers were completely gone, that’s when he struck. It was like a lion stalking his prey in the high grasslands of the savanna. He didn't have to beat me with secrecy and speed. He beat me by standing right next to me, staring right into my brown eyes. He saw the torment and the pain I had seen in my 19 years on this earth. He saw why my layer was so thick and why I was steadfast on removing it. He was enticed by it. He wanted to take advantage of it. He feasted on my sorrow. What did I do? Nothing. For there was nothing I could do. He had bewitched me with his smooth skin, his soft as silk kisses and those three words that women’s knees buckle at: I love you.

 

Now I’m running. The town’s main thoroughfare, Commonwealth Avenue, wasn't far. I knew my destination. In the December cold, my legs carried me there.My entire being knew what it had to do.I arrived at the Old Framington Bridge just as the early winter sun rose.The bridge was built in 1879 and was the first crossing over the Charles River. I could hear the sirens in the distance. By the time they got here, it would be too late. He tore me into two pieces and like any unusable item, it must be disposed of properly. I had failed life. I failed the test. I had failed myself. 50 feet stood between me and the Charles River. The river’s temperature was a chilled 12 degrees. Without any resistance, I let my own weight take me off the bridge and into the river.

 

On the opposite bank of the river, I saw him. Waving goodbye with a grin on his face.

 

It was 6AM on a Friday.