Chapter 24 Destroy Me
I NEVER IMAGINED I could go from feeling so excited and happy to being so completely knocked down to size in a matter of minutes.
Over all the months I stayed locked up inside my room, I never experienced such abrupt changes in mood.
I guess it’s because there are fewer variables at home; I can control things.
But in the outside world I’m at the mercy of other people.
I learned this in the worst way possible.
“Hey there.” It’s the tall, gorgeous, black-haired girl from my class blocking my path, her two friends lingering close by.
She’s even prettier up close, with full lips and a thin nose.
Her face is contoured to highlight her striking features, but I’m sure she’s just as beautiful without any makeup.
“Yes?” I answer politely, a little nervous since socializing with strangers is something I haven’t quite mastered.
She gives me a warm smile. “We haven’t been introduced. I’m Liliana, but everyone calls me Yana for short.” She takes my hand and I tense, but I don’t pull away. I don’t want to seem unfriendly.
Wait… Liliana? As in the girl who always messages Kang’s radio show? No, it can’t be.
“I’m Klara.”
“Are you on social media, Klara? We’ve set up a TikTok for the school, and we’re trying to get students to follow the account.”
“Oh…” I swallow. “No… I’m not on any social networks.”
“Really?” The surprise on her face is evident. I feel dumb. Everyone is on the internet; it’s weird not to be. You’re weird, Klara. This thought makes me feel even more nervous.
“Well, come on, we’ll help you set up an account.”
Yana guides me through a wooden door with a frosted glass window. We’re inside a classroom that looks like it’s being used for storage for the theater department. There are racks full of costumes, props, made-up sets. There’s even old, cracked mirrors lined up against one wall.
Her two friends follow us inside and introduce themselves: Kayla and Andrea. I’m not at all comfortable in this situation, but I don’t know how to get out of it without being rude. Besides, these girls are just being nice, right?
Yana takes my phone and starts downloading the app, asking me the required questions.
“Sorry, but I have to ask: Is that your real hair or a wig?” Kayla says, smiling kindly.
The comment stings since one of my fears about starting college was that people would notice my wig and say something about it. Kayla’s question sends my thoughts spiraling : Is it that obvious? Has everyone noticed? Perla? Diego? Kang?
“It’s… a wig,” I admit, embarrassed.
“Oh, it looks great on you.”
“There, now you can follow the college’s official TikTok account, and all of us, too,” Yana says. She’s about to hand my phone back when a message from Kang comes in. “Oh, you know Kang?”
“You know him, too?” I ask, taking my phone back.
“Yeah, everyone does—he’s our favorite radio host,” she says, leaning against a table.
“Yeah, his show’s great,” I say.
Yana has left the school’s TikTok account open on my phone and a video is paused on a photo of Kang in his soccer uniform next to Yana in cheerleading attire.
The photo is captioned Goals and there are a bunch of comments from people saying they make a cute couple.
And it’s true—they look perfect together, made for each other.
I try to speak, but the words are stuck in my throat.
“Kang’s going to be such a great therapist,” Kayla says, sighing.
“Therapist?” I thought Kang was studying something related to radio broadcasting or communications. He’s never mentioned therapy to me.
“Oh, yeah, I thought everyone knew. He volunteers as a peer counselor once a month,” Yana says. “I think he helped out your friend Perla, too.”
“Oh.”
I’m left speechless, processing this bizarre encounter, as the girls say goodbye and leave the room.
They were friendly enough, but there was something about them that intimidated me, as if they had some underlying intentions.
You knew this would happen, I tell myself.
You thought you could have a normal life, that a guy like Kang could be into you .
Stop, Klara. You’re ruminating , as Dr. B. would call it—the pattern of negative and repetitive thinking that is difficult to stop.
It’s just hard to fight these thoughts when everything makes more sense with all this new information.
Kang wants to be a therapist; he volunteers to counsel messed-up kids like me; he’s only talking to me to help me adjust, probably because Ms. Romes asked him to.
I glance back at the picture of Kang and Yana.
She looks like the kind of girl who deserves to be by his side.
The two of them together make perfect sense.
I suddenly feel that the outside world is too terrifying.
This is why I didn’t want to get my hopes up, this is why I didn’t want to expose myself to him.
I knew everything was too good to be true…
Kang was too good to be true. That, sooner rather than later, everything would fall apart and reality would set in.
I see my depressing reflection in one of the cracked mirrors, face flushed, tears in my eyes. I raise a hand and trace my reflection with trembling fingers.
I close my eyes. I don’t want to leave this room; I don’t want to see anyone now that I know how they truly view me.
Everyone has been so friendly because they pity me, because they see me as weak, because society requires them to be nice to sick people to keep from appearing cruel. None of it was real.
I sit down with my back against the wall, hug my knees, and cry until I run out of tears.
I don’t know how to handle this sudden emotional low.
I ignore my cell phone, which vibrates repeatedly.
I just want to stay here, safe, where no one can see me, no one can hurt me. I’ll be fine as long as I stay here .
I’m not sure how many minutes have passed, but the tears have dried and my eyes trace the dusty cobwebs along the walls. My mind is foggy and I have the feeling of being left adrift, alone in an immense and unscrupulous world.
A tapping sound at the window causes me to turn my head: It’s raining. A bitter smile forms on my lips; of course it’s raining! Life constantly reminds me of everything I’ve lost, like salt in the wound left by my mother’s death. Life wants to sink me.
But I’m already sunk.
You can end it, Klara. You can stop all this pain, all this suffering.
Aren’t you tired of fighting every day? What for?
Just so you can have another relapse? You’ll never be completely well.
Something will always send you back into the corner, cowering in fear.
Imagine no more sadness, no more deathly fears every time you go for your quarterly checkup with the oncologist, no more constantly picturing your death by cancer…
You don’t want to leave this world like your mother did, slowly and painfully .
Fresh tears retrace the well-laid path down my cheeks as the rain becomes heavier against the glass.
Suicide.
That forbidden word that people avoid like the plague.
How could anyone want to end their life?
It doesn’t make sense, they say. Sure, it doesn’t make sense for a psychologically stable person.
But for those of us with major depression, it’s an option that’s always there in the backs of our minds.
I’m not justifying it, I’m not promoting it, but I understand why it’s a thought.
That doesn’t mean I’m going to do it, but I can admit to thinking about it.
Why?
That’s the big question, isn’t it?
Why would I do such a thing?
Because living hurts—trudging through days with the feeling of drowning because I don’t see the point of anything.
Why am I alive? Why should I go on? If I often struggle to find meaning in anything I do, why keep doing it?
I’m exhausted by so many monotonous, colorless days without any feeling besides pain. What’s the point of staying here?
Emotional fatigue. It’s led me to think about suicide several times during my periods of depression.
When you feel like you can’t take it anymore, like you just want the pain to stop, for it all to end, suicide can seem like the only option.
The silence and peace only death can offer are tempting in the midst of the chaos caused by depression.
But, if there’s one thing I’ve learned from Kamila, it’s a coping mechanism to deal with these thoughts.
“I want you to imagine a spectacular landscape with lush green trees, a cool breeze, green grass, flowers everywhere, clear skies,” my sister says in a soothing voice. “It’s a beautiful view, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” I say, my eyes closed.
“Now, suddenly, the sky clouds over, the flowers lose their color, torrential rain begins to fall, flooding everything… Hurricane-force winds whip through the trees, stripping them of their leaves. How does it look now?”
“Very bad.”
“That storm is depression, Klara, and with it comes suicidal thoughts, asking why not end it all. But even if the landscape is damaged by the storm, you need to remember how beautiful the view will be again… Why?”
“Because the storm will pass.”
“Exactly. Because even if something is damaged, it can be repaired. When the clouds disperse and the sun comes out again to dry the grass and flowers, when new leaves sprout on the trees, the landscape will be beautiful again, even more than before because it will have survived a storm.”
“I understand.”
“So when you feel overwhelmed, remember what I just told you, okay? Your life is a beautiful landscape, Klara. Admitting that you are in the midst of the storm will help you remember that it has an end, and that you will survive.”
I gently wipe the tears from my face.
“I’m in the midst of the storm,” I say in a broken voice, “but it’s going to pass. I’m going to be okay. I’ve survived so many storms…” My voice breaks. “When I come out of this one, I’m going to enjoy the hell out of that beautiful fucking view.”