Max's Parents

  Max had a way of making me feel like the only person in the world, I guess maybe to him I was. The only person who would pick up the phone at any time or wake up at ungodly hours of the night to listen to him talk, because I knew he would make me smile just by letting me hear his voice. You never imagine you'll have to live a day without someone like Max, I wish you could meet him. You'd probably fall for his soul just like I did, but you'd be hurting and I'd never wish that on you. The worst feeling I've come across is losing Max, even when he would sometimes come back, I knew one day he wouldn't. I was just never ready. Perhaps you'd think after having your heart broken hundreds upon millions of times it would stop hurting, it goes numb for a bit then becomes a constant dull ache that never leaves.

             Max didn't like all the pills he had to take, I didn't like that the things keeping his body alive were killing his soul. Think you know how he died yet? I bet you don't.

              When Max was born his parents gave him up, yep, beautiful giggly baby Max was cast away by his family. Maybe they knew he would be sick, or maybe they didn't care about a baby. I suppose I should be grateful to them, I mean they gave me my angel after all. His adoptive parents are the most caring and relaxed parents you could ask for. they offered to take me in when they found out that I was fifteen and they found out I was living alone and paying my own way.

                I always told them I think I'm alright, they checked up on me the other day when they were brought me some of Max's things from his old bedroom at their house. They told me that they knew how much I meant to Max and I wanted to scream at them that they had no idea, that we were all each other had. I bit my tongue and let my frustrated tears be mistaken for sadness, they asked if I'd been taking my anti- depressants (pills I've been given in an attempt to my brain because doctors and society don't want me to own my sadness and bad feelings.). I admitted that I hadn't and his mother got me a glass of water and two pills from each of the prescription bottles on my kitchen counter.

                    Begrudgingly I choked down the poison,

                    Meant to keep me alive,

                    Taking beauty out of the sky.

                     Artificial colors stake claims,

                     A fake smile paints my face.

                     Pleads to sleep muffled by,

                     Mechanical laughs.

         Politely I thanked them for the things they had brought and ushered them out the door, excusing myself to get ready for a therapy session with Dr. Evan. (He's probably on more pills than me combined with his lowkey alcoholism and his wife leaving him.) I could probably council him, I'm waiting for him to snap and quit. My silence and smirks are probably going to get to him, I'd say he'll slap the s**t out of me or spill his own problems to fill the court mandated hour of silence eventually.

           The therapy is mandatory, otherwise I wouldn't f*****g go, the place is horrible. But when courts get to you because you have a breakdown in the ICU and scream about suicide, therapy isn't a choice. I suppose it's better than a psych ward for eighteen months. Yep, yours truly, twenty- three year old literary genius got arrested after my husband died.

            Okay so we weren't actually legally married cause we never had the time, but we had rings and undying love and devotion for each other. But when someone like Max is taken from you it kills your soul, you want to follow them, to die too. When they told me Max was dead I wanted to see him, I screamed that they were lying, I screamed asking why they were trying to keep us apart. I screamed that they didn't have the right to let "them" steal the love of my life. My actions were totally unacceptable to hospital staff and security.