The Book for Adrian

This is to the boy who once asked me if I’d like to be remembered by a small stone or rather as a great writer. One who “spun tales for others to feel they must hear more”.

There are certain things in life people like to explain.

Being an author is cool and all but that’s not why I’m doing this.

I’d like to explain why I’m writing this.

It’s not to “get my story out there”.

I honestly don’t care about that.

When something makes sense in my head.

But I think that’s the problem.

Everything makes more sense in my head.

And they second I tell someone.

I have to explain it.

BAM!

It makes no sense.

Or it’s weird.

Or creepy.

Or obsessive.

Or stalkerish.

Or basically any other negative adjective one can find.

When I tell people stuff they get the wrong idea.

They perceive me differently.

They think I’m strange.

And it irritates me.

I figured.

If I can write down how I feel.

And offer an explanation.

It would make more sense.

Maybe then people wouldn’t leave.

Or freak out.

Or think I’m all those adjectives listed above.

In my life I’ve been defined by those adjectives.

I think it’s time to change that and hopefully find a new list.

Purely because I can’t explain how I feel.

The fact of society is that mental illness is looked down upon.

If someone has cancer people give them balloons.

Candy.

Cards.

They wait on them hand and foot.

They come over and offer support.

People celebrate when it’s over.

Everyone is caring.

And concerned.

But if someone has a mental illness they get called lazy.

These people are at war with the one thing they can’t get rid of.

A liar.

That it’s made up.

Or all in their head.

This isn’t fair.

Their mind.

And people just sit there and stigmatize it.

They don’t offer candy or cards.

They just stare.

Or laugh.

Or ignore the person and pretend it’s not really there.

These people deserve endless support.

Most illnesses will end.

But mental illness can last a lifetime.

Sometimes in life one needs to just sit down and tell their story.

I live in two worlds, completely different from each other.

and the one everyone says I’ve made up in my mind.

People say I should join their world, but mine feels safer.

This is mine.

There’s the one everyone seems to live in...

The only downfall is that he lives there.

Him.

He.

The voice that plagues my very existence.

I’ve been told that he’s not real, but when I can feel him whispering into my ear it’s hard to

Sometimes he whispers, quietly, barely audible over my own thoughts.

I’d like to say that I wish he would shut up, but I can’t.

Repeating my name constantly.

Alone, lost in my own world.

I think being alone is what I fear most.

I think that’s why he’s here.

Maybe so I’m not alone.

Adrian says it’s because I’m damaged.

How could one word mean so much?

believe them.

Other times he yells.

Then I would be alone.

Sometimes, I believe Adrian.

He has no PhD, no bachelor’s degree, no Master’s.

But even without those, he’s right.

Damaged.

Flawed.

Impaired.

Screwed Up.

Broken.

Damaged.

Sometimes I don’t.

Why should I?

I am damaged.

I am crazy.

But I should live.

I should live for my family.

I should live for my friends.

I should live to prove a God damn point.

That I am not a statistic, and I will not be a statistic.

There are people in my life right now that I may not see tomorrow.

They decide that I’m not a suitable person to talk to.

I’d like to pretend that I don’t care that people leave.

Due to death or college or a very messy family situation.

People leave.

Simple as that.

People die.

They move away.

Such is life.

But I can’t.

Too many people in my life have left.

I think the hardest one is college.

But death and even the very messy family situation give me closure.

I know that they are happy.

I guess I’m not dead so I can’t judge.

Each time it eats me up.

Sounds weird I know.

I know where they are.

Or are hopefully happy.

But college is a mystery and not a very good one if you ask me.

The first time I dealt with college was seventh grade.

Her name was Mary Kate.

I looked up to her like she was this god.

She was my idol.

My role model.

The first person I felt like I could really look up to.

She left for college, promising she would come back.

Promising that things wouldn’t change.

Promising that we could talk.

All empty promises.

I saw her once that year.

She talked to me once.

It makes me worried about when Adrian leaves.

And everything had changed.

What if he never comes back?

What if he never talks to me again?

What if he gets new friends?

What if he’s not there when I really need him?

What if everything changes?

I feel like there are too many what ifs in this equation.

Because sometimes I feel like he is the only person I have left.

That it is too much of a mystery.

This is one person I don’t want to leave.

There are important people in everyone’s life.

People that make them happy to wake up in the morning.

Or if not happy, less pissed off they woke up.

Maybe it’s a girlfriend, or a boyfriend.

Maybe it’s a brother or a sister.

A cousin.

An aunt or uncle.

Their parents.

Friends.

There’s always someone.

I have a few someones.

First is Lexi.

I’ve known her since the second day of moving to my new school.

I was scared shitless to move schools.

Having a new best friend made everything better.

Up until fourth grade we did everything together.

We sat by each other.

Ate with each other.

She came over.

I went over there.

We were inseparable.

Fifth grade our school split us up.

I mean with only seventy kids in our grade it shouldn’t have changed anything.

But it did.

I was lost.

`No friends to talk to.

Then she made new friends and I felt betrayed.

Fifth through seventh grade were strained.

She was in my homeroom and we got closer again.

Freshman year we ate lunch together every day and I had class with her.

She’s like my sister and I’d be lost without her.

I met her freshman year, and we didn’t really hit it off at first.

But I’m glad that our friendship lasted.

Eighth grade was better.

Our friendship was back to normal.

In my opinion we’ve never been closer.

Another someone is Josie.

Actually, I think she hit me.

I deserved it.

We were in the same debate class and we didn’t really talk until the first tournament.

After that we were best friends, at least in my mind.

Our friendship has hit plenty of rough patches.

Being debate partners didn’t really help that.

We constantly fought over the stupidest things.

Looking back at it I can see how dumb it really was.

And I hope she knows how sorry I am about it.

Who was what speaker.

Who’s boy was who’s.

Sophomore year it’s been better.

At first we weren’t friends.

We were basically mortal enemies.

Now I feel like I can tell her anything.

I’m glad she came back into my life.

It got better.

Robbie.

Robert James.

He’s...

Well he’s him.

I don’t need to give a blow by blow about our friendship.

He saved my life.

I am here because winter break he took the time to talk to the little freshman about what was

I can’t say much else.

There are no words to describe him.

troubling her.

I look up to him.

He’s just him.

Everyone’s middle name sounds better if it’s motherfucking.

Adrian motherfucking Mitchell.

This whole thing is for him.

To explain everything to him.

Try it.

He deserves it.

Robbie may have saved my life, but Adrian does it every day.

I swear to God this guy deserves an award.

Whether or not he knows who the hell you are, he cares.

I don’t know where to start.

He cares about everyone.

I know this for a fact.

And he told me too.

He stayed up until two for me.

Two.

In the morning.

To make the story short, I tried to die, and he wouldn’t let me.

He gave up sleep to make sure I lived.

He texted me the next morning.

I attempted to push him away and he stayed.

He was the first person I told about the voices.

Adrian told me that the voice wasn’t real.

He talked me through them.

That it can’t hurt me.

That I shouldn’t be scared.

He was the one that helped me stop cutting.

I hated him for making me throw away the razors.

But now I can see that it was for the best.

He explained to me why even one little cut would start the cycle all over again.

Why I shouldn’t do it.

And he reassured me that I wouldn’t explode.

Even though it felt like I would.

I feel like I can tell him anything.

Good or bad.

Insane or perfectly logical.

Anything.

And he will have my back.

That is why I love him.

Not like that.

But like he’s my older brother.

Like he will always be there, like a sibling should.

I just want to get rid of the toxic waste in my life.

Dragging me down beneath the depths.

But I can’t.

It latches onto my foot.

I cry out for help.

No one can help.

They can’t see it.

It pulls me farther and farther.

Deeper into the abyss.

I can’t breathe.

And suddenly my life seems over.

The people who take the time to listen to my pains.

When all seems lost.

I look up and see the hope.

The people who can help.

My worries.

The people who truly care.

Those people are my lifesavers.

The lifeguards everyone needs.

So they don’t drown in the depths of the toxic waste.

Say the phrase suicide letter.

Say the word suicide.

Now repeat it.

Now repeat it.

How would it feel to tell someone that their best friend killed themself?

How would it feel to be that person that had to hear it?

Thinking about this makes me angry.

Upset.

Pissed off.

Enraged.

It angers me that I’ve ever thought about doing this.

I don’t know why every morning I wake up pissed that I woke up.

That I’ve ever thought about killing myself.

Why would I want this?

Why would I want to be in a box at sixteen?

As honest as I possibly can.

I don’t know why I get upset.

I don’t know why I lash out.

I don’t know why I want to die.

I try to explain it to people.

I tell them that it’s too hard.

Life it just too confusing.

It would be easier if I was just dead.

I make up excuses for myself.

Well maybe I wasn’t suppose to live.

I ask myself.

And I answer myself.

I don’t know.

Maybe all those dreams I had stopped at sixteen for a reason.

Up until last year I didn’t think anyone would miss me.

I’m not special.

I’m not important.

They showed me that everyone is worth something.

I’m just a waste of space.

But then I met people and that changed.

That no one is so bad they deserve to die.

That killing myself would hurt a lot of people.

Robert Marshall.

Josie.

Robbie.

Adrian.

Haley.

Justice.

My parents.

Lacey.

And others.

They showed me that they really cared.

No matter how much I begged they wouldn’t.

And I’d like to say that I don’t think about killing myself.

They would do anything for me.

Thank you to anyone that helped.

Even in some small way.

But I won’t lie.

Author's Note

ignore formatting, other than that critique as you wish