Chapter 2 Follow Me
I PASS THE days one after another, mainly stuck in the four walls of my room.
There’s my bed, in the middle, white Christmas lights wrapped around my bedframe from a few Christmases ago that I never bothered taking off.
To the right is my nightstand with a lamp, a book, and my favorite pictures of my mother and me.
To the left is my desk, with rolled-up canvases on top that haven’t been touched in years.
It used to be a place where I liked to sit down and paint, but now I just use it to read or watch TV dramas when I get tired of being on my bed.
I wish I could say I’d made it more appealing with posters on my walls, pictures of and with friends, but that would be a lie.
The most I have are some white hanging shelves reserved for my favorite novels—the rest of my books are scattered throughout my room—and some random knickknacks that my sister added so it wouldn’t look so empty.
While this is my safe space, sometimes I grow tired of it.
But, with the exception of days I practice exposure therapy, the farthest I go is to a different room inside the house, to be stuck in a different set of four walls.
Regardless of how my day is spent, for the most part, it’s always the same: The sun filters in through my window until it finally disappears, only to be replaced by the moon, and then everything starts all over again.
Every day is exactly the same, monotonous, except for that one hour every other day, when I get to hear his voice.
I go through my evening routine. It’s almost time for Kang’s show, so, popcorn and Coke in hand, I head to my bedroom. But my little bubble of bliss is burst when I run into my sister in the hallway.
“Ah! You scared me!”
Kamila crosses her arms. Yes, Kamila with a K; my mother loved the letter K .
“You know you shouldn’t be eating that junk, it’s not healthy,” she scolds me. I see she has her white doctor’s coat folded over one arm.
I give her a huge smile to soften her up. “It’s just this once.”
She narrows her eyes and furrows her brow. “That’s what you said yesterday.”
“Are you on call?” I ask, changing the subject—usually the best course of action.
“Yes, one of my patients”—she stops for a moment, always so careful with her words when she talks to me about her work—“had a setback.”
Setback. That’s her favorite euphemism to avoid naming the mental health situations she encounters in her job day-to-day.
Kamila started working as a psychiatrist four years ago, and I’d like to say it’s been easy for her, but no, it’s been exhausting and heartbreaking.
She’s the strongest person I know, which is why she’s been able to handle it so well.
I believe that everyone has a calling in life.
Some find theirs and live happily with their decision; others don’t and simply let themselves be pulled along by the flow of life, withering and dying without ever having found a dream, goal, or objective for their existence.
Before everything changed, I had so many dreams and I was so full of energy, I wanted to eat the world, achieve the unachievable.
Then my mother got sick. And one blow after another gradually destroyed that young dreamer, eating away at me until I became what I am today.
Now, I’m an empty shell, barely surviving.
“How are you?” Kamila asks, looking at me cautiously, always analyzing me. I can’t blame her; it’s her job.
“I’m good.”
“Dizzy spells? Vivid dreams?”
I shake my head. “No side effects this time.”
Kamila sighs with relief. “If you have any symptoms, you need to let me know, Klara; antidepressants are not something to be taken lightly. Trust—”
“Is the most important thing,” I finish her sentence for her.
“I’ve never lied to you.” And it’s true; I’ve always been honest with her when it comes to anything that has to do with my mental health, it’s just that I don’t like it when she goes into doctor mode on me.
But I have to put up with it since, apart from being my sister, she monitors every step of the treatment laid out by my psychiatrist, who, along with my therapist, sees me once a month.
My sister makes sure that I stick to my medication; she takes care of me.
“Have you had any unpleasant thoughts?”
That makes me smile. I don’t understand why she thinks she has to be so cautious with her words. “I haven’t had any suicidal thoughts, Kamila, if that’s what you’re asking.”
We had this same conversation when I started my previous antidepressants.
The first few weeks, as my body got used to the medication, I felt even lower and more depressed—something that can happen before you begin to notice any improvement.
I call it a roller coaster: sudden lows followed by new highs. Kamila was by my side then, too.
“Andy will be home from work soon, so you won’t be alone for long. You can call me if you need anything.”
Andy is Kamila’s husband, and I live with them. He’s a nice man.
I swallow, because being alone scares me more than I want to admit. “I’m fine, go.”
Kamila pulls me into a hug. “I love you, K.”
I respond with a couple pats on her back. “I love you too, K2.”
We’ve used these nicknames for each other since we were little. Even though she was a teenager when I was born, our age difference never kept us from being close.
I watch her walk away, and then I go into my bedroom. When I hear Kang’s voice opening the show, I relax and begin to eat my popcorn. The topic tonight is family.
“I think that who we are, our personality, has a lot to do with how we’re raised and the things we see on a daily basis growing up.”
His voice sounds a little sad. Does this topic upset him? If so, that makes two of us.
“What do you guys think? Let me know in a text message as we listen to the next song.”
As I begin to get lost in the lyrics, I feel a tap on the shoulder and open my eyes. Andy is standing in front of me, wearing an impeccable gray suit, a light-blue button-down shirt, and a striped tie to match. His dark hair is combed back perfectly, not a strand out of place.
I put my headphones around my neck. “Hey,” I say, greeting him with a smile.
“Just wanted to let you know I was home. Keep listening to your show,” he says, as he checks his watch. “It’s your favorite one, right?” I nod and he points to my hair. “Pink looks good on you.”
I roll my eyes. “According to you and Kamila, everything looks good on me.”
“It’s because we love you.”
Andy is a very sweet man, and, despite the fact that he’s only a few years older than my sister, he’s become like a father to me.
“Sorry, but your opinion doesn’t count for much.”
“That hurts,” he says, grabbing his chest.
“You’ll survive.”
He turns around and walks to the door. “Enjoy your show.”
I put my headphones back on just in time to listen to Kang reading one of the many messages he’s received.
“This next one is from a very dedicated listener. Thank you for always tuning in, Liliana. Today she says: ‘I love the way you express yourself so well and how you help others understand complicated topics. I find it very… sexy.’ Umm… Thanks so much for this message of support. I do it for our listeners—I couldn’t do it without you guys. ”
Liliana sends messages all the time, and it irks me, though I don’t know why. Maybe it’s the fact that Kang thinks of her as a dedicated listener when there are so many other people like me who’ve been listening to the show for ages. But it doesn’t matter.
Kang says good night as the show comes to an end. “Don’t forget to follow us on social media. You can find Follow My Voice on YouTube, Instagram, and X. Good night from your humble host, Kang. Have a great evening. I’ll leave you with this song titled ‘More of You,’ from the band Broken Dreams.”
More…
It’s not enough.
What if it’s not enough?
If everything changes,
no matter how much I pay attention…
to you…
For you…
these sweet words for no reason,
life doesn’t matter at all
or how high you might fall
No…
It’s not enough, not today, not tomorrow,
having you only in my mind.
I want more, much more of you.
As I listen to the chorus, my finger hovers over the Instagram app, trembling.
I have an old account that I haven’t checked in over a year.
I don’t know if it’s because of what Kang said about Liliana or because of the song that’s playing, but I feel suddenly curious.
The second part of the song hits me even harder.
What if my emotions explode?
If my feelings take over,
and I can’t hold back anymore.
What if I lose control?
Because of you…
For you…
these sweet words for no reason,
life doesn’t matter at all
or how high you might fall. No…
It’s not enough, not today, not tomorrow,
having you only in my mind.
I want more, so much more of you.
My mind made up, I open Instagram and search for Follow My Voice before I have time to regret it.