So Then I Wrote

Pressure.

That's the only way I could really describe this feeling; the crushing feeling compressing my entire body and making me want to scream or cry or run or do anything. I've been sitting in the same spot since I woke, never moving, not caring how much time I'm wasting. I wanted to be around people, but I have no friends. There's no one to feel close to.

Not knowing what else to do and wanting so badly to be anywhere but where I was at the moment, I picked up the mocha my sister had brought me a few minutes earlier and began to wander around the house. I wasn't really doing anything; I just looked around seeing what I could be doing if I had the energy. I lingered around the window for a few minutes, taking in the snowy suburban neighborhood that lay before me. I wanted so badly to be out there, doing something. Sighing, I made my way towards the family room where my sister was curled up under a blanket watching a movie. Eager to talk to someone, I quickly broke the short-lived silence between us.

"I think I'm going insane. I need to get out of this house."

"So do something." My sister was just as sick of seeing me mope around the house all weekend as I was.

"I would if I had something to do."

It was silent between us after that, an awkward silence creeping up on us and suffocating me. I hated silence. It was too loud for me.

"Um, did mom and dad say when they were coming back from the game?"

She sighed. "No, but they're not going to be back for a few hours at least, and I can't take you anywhere. I won't have my license for a couple more weeks, so either take a walk or sit your ass down and do something here."

I glared at the back of her head from my seat, but she didn't notice. Not wanting to be swallowed by the awkward silence that consumed us once again, I stood and started walking towards the kitchen. On the way out, I asked my sister one more question.

"Did you check on the game yet? I heard the Bears are winning."

I really didn't give a fuck about what was going on in the game; I just couldn't handle the silence any longer. When she sighed and didn't answer, I shuffled into the kitchen and opened the fridge.

I wasn't hungry at all. In fact, I hadn't been hungry in days now. Food was no longer important to me. Instead, I shut the fridge quickly before making my way to the other side of the kitchen and opening a small cabinet over the coffee maker. I had a terrible headache; not one of those tiny annoying headaches who's dull pounding proved to be nothing more than a small distraction. I had a full-on migraine and it didn't seem to be getting any better.

Blindly reaching into the cabinet, I pulled out bottle after bottle, trying to read the labels with migraine-induced increasingly blurry vision. When I finally found a use full vial, I emptied three little capsules into my hand and swallowed them, washing them down with my now cold mocha. Technically, I was only supposed to take one, but technically, this wasn't a normal headache. I then made my way back to my room, settling into the small indent already formed on the bed from my constant presence.

I pressed my thumbs firmly into my eye sockets, trying to make the pain in my head subside slightly. When I felt the pills kick in, relief flooded through my veins. I had missed my music, but I couldn't listen to it when I had migraines. It caused me to see stars and pass out, and that was something I didn't want to deal with right now. Now that the pain had subsided, I could.

Not really thinking about what I was listening to, I put my favorite play list on, and "I'm Going To Kill the President of the United States" by LeATHERMOUTH began blasting through my tiny speakers. It certainly didn't relieve the dull throbbing in my head, but it did make me feel a tiny bit better. I grabbed my bass and began to pluck along with the song, humming softly as I did so.

When the song ended, I was lost again. Another song had started, but my brain couldn't register what it was. I was thinking too deeply. How could I pull myself out of this? What I desired more than anything was human contact, other than my sister or parents. My boyfriend was currently in Hawaii, but even if he was here, it wouldn't make a difference. I could barely define us as friends anymore, let alone an actual couple. Really, I could only think of one person that would listen to me in my slightly crazed state.

I quickly pulled out my phone and searched my numbers until I reached "L". Landon, Leslie, and finally, the name I had been looking for. I pressed send and held the phone up to my ear. It rang about four times before voice mail kicked in.

"Hey hun, it's Chrissie. Please call me back soon. I really need to talk. I think I'm going a little crazy." I laughed a little uneasily into the phone. "Anyway, call me soon. I love you girl."

Well, that didn't really surprise me. Lizzy never had her phone on. I chuckled inwardly before letting my thoughts settle again. Lizzy was the only person I could ever talk to. To her, I was her best friend, but to me, it was so much more. Of course, I could never tell her how I really felt. We both had boyfriends, and unlike mine, hers was sweet and cared about her. Not knowing who else to call, I quickly dialed his number. If anyone knew where Lizzy was, he would. The phone only rang twice before a sleepy sounding voice sounded on the other end of the line.

"Hello?"

"Hey Justin, it's Chrissie. I couldn't reach Lizzy and I thought she might be with you."

"Yeah, she's here now. Do you want me to put her on for you?"

"That would be awesome." I smiled into the phone warmly, though neither Lizzy nor Justin could see.

I heard movement on the other line, followed by the voice I had been dying to hear.

"Hey hun. What's up?"

"Lizzy! Uh, hey. I just kinda needed someone to talk to. I'm in kind of a big slump right now."

"Well, what have you done so far today?"

I thought, then counted on my fingers as I listed.

"Well, I went on the computer, then I had a coffee, then I talked to my sister, then I, uh, took some pills, then-"

"Chrissie, when you say "pills" how many do you mean?"

"Jesus, only three! It's not like I'm trying to kill myself or anything!" Secretly, I wouldn't have minded ending it all, but not because I was sad or disliked my life. I was simply bored. Life had grown boring and mundane. I needed a change of pace, and death was certainly a pretty big change.

"Oh I know. I just worry about you." My heart stuttered slightly. "You're always cooped up in that house, and I miss hanging out like we used to."

"I know, I know. Well, I should probably let you get back to your date. I'm going to go find something interesting to do."

"Kay. I love you girl." I couldn't keep the fluttering in my stomach away. No matter how many times I had heard her say it, no matter how friendly it was intended to be, I still loved hearing it.

"I love you too girl. Bye bye."

Well, now I was right back where I started. I still had nothing to do, and my insanity was slowly creeping in on me again.

I never knew what it felt like to be insane, but I guess this was about as close as you can get. There were a million different things rushing through my brain at once, reverberating off my skull. I screamed into my pillow for no apparent reason and smacked myself once in the face, trying to come out of this strange daze. I still felt exactly the same, however. The walls were closing in on me, and I couldn't breathe properly. I needed some kind of escape.

"I'm going for a walk." I had slammed the door before my sister had time to reply. My notebook and signature red pen in tow, I sped through the quiet Chicago suburb, not really knowing where I was going. The temperature was around 15 degrees, and in my rush I hadn't put on a coat or even shoes, but I didn't care. I must have looked certifiably mental.

After a couple of minutes of walking, the cold from the snow caked on the ground began to shoot up through my bare feet and into my legs, making them incredibly numb. I cursed at myself quietly for not wearing long baggy jeans, then tried unsuccessfully to roll the bottoms of my jeans around my feet. I needed to get my feet off the ground soon; I had no interest in loosing them.

I lived right next to the local park. Last year, they had torn it down and built a new, bigger one in its place. It was nice, except for there was now constantly little kids running around my neighborhood and parked cars up and down the streets. However, it was the middle of winter and I was the only one there. I sat down on one of the empty swings, my cheek pressed up against the freezing metal chain.

I instantly felt better as I lifted my bare feet off of the icy ground, but my upper body was still freezing. All I had on was my trademark MCR shirt and a pair of black skinny jeans. Hugging my arms around my body, my crimson pen fell out of my jeans pocket. I had completely forgotten I had it. I lifted my notebook clumsily out of my lap and opened it to the first available page. Blurs of red ink flashed on every page. I don't know why I wrote everything in red pen, but I guess it was just to be different. After all, who other than me took the time to hand write everything instead of just typing it right off the bat? No one, thank you very much. I loved being different.

After I found a blank page, I chewed on the base of my pen for a few minutes, deep in thought. Then, I did the only thing I knew how to do. The only thing I could do to escape from the world and all the insanity in it.

So then I wrote.

I wrote about absolutely everything I could think of. I wrote until the chain from the swing had bured a mark into the side of my face. I wrote until the side of my hand was red and irritated from scratching up against the paper. I wrote until my fingers were too numb to further grip the pen. But most importantly, I wrote until I had poured all of the emotion onto the small lined papers that had been building up inside of me. All of my insanity was there, scrawled out on the page, visible to anyone who decided to look. Feeling satisfied with my result, I jumped to my feet, ignoring the cold sensation that shot through my body, and began to skip home happily, feeling as though a giant weight had been lifted off my shoulders.

When I got home, I was greeted by the frenzied screeches of my mother.

"Where have you been!? Your father and I have been worried sick! You can't just leave the house and not come back until dark! Your sister told us you left hours ago and never came back! Oh honey you look freezing! Your fingers are blue!

Normally, looking at my unnaturally long, thin fingers and finding them blue would have been unsettling. However, I just smiled, kissed my mom on the cheek with freezing lips, and skipped into my room. I felt 100 pounds lighter. All of the emotion had been lifted off of my chest. Everything was going to be fine. I wasn't going insane.

I was free.