Chapter 1
Lennon
Sitting in the living room, I was colouring a picture for when he returned.
It had been longer than I had anticipated, so I wanted to make sure he knew I missed him by showing him some of my artwork.
My mom was still in bed, where she usually was.
Days had been hard for her since my little brother went to heaven.
He had skipped right over spending time with us on Earth because he had been so excited to meet God—or at least that’s what my daddy had told me.
I thought he should have made a pit stop here first, even just to say hi. Maybe then my mom wouldn’t have been so sad.
Looking out the front yard window, I noticed that the sun had set. Maybe it had set a long time ago. I realized I was kind of hungry, and I hadn’t had supper. Maybe I should have gone to ask Mom?
The phone began to ring. It rang, and rang, and rang. It kept ringing until it finally stopped. When it stopped, I listened to see if Mom was coming to answer it or check who had called. She didn’t move.
I stood up and walked toward the window to see outside more closely. It was really dark out. I wondered what time it was, so I walked into the connecting kitchen where oak cabinets lined the walls with nice handles. I loved the gold handles. The stove clock flashed the time digitally: 12:10.
Just as I was trying to understand why it was dark at noon, the phone rang again.
Where was my daddy?
The ringing carried on. It rang, and rang, and rang. I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing the sound would stop.
It rang again—but when I opened my eyes, light was blaring through the curtains and I was in my current apartment. I wasn’t six anymore. I was twenty-five. My cell phone was ringing on the nightstand.
Shoving the blankets off of me, I scurried to answer it. No one ever called me, so this might have been important. Important for me.
Snatching the phone upright and ripping it off the charging cord, I pressed the green answer button and frantically brought the phone to my face. “Hello?”
A voice on the other end sounded cheerful, professional. “Hello, Lennon, it’s Rachel. How’s the day going?”
“It’s going, sorry I missed your first call,” I offered shyly.
I could sense Rachel’s smile on the other end. “It’s no trouble. I just wanted to let you know you’d been accepted into the Group Therapy for Mental Health Outcomes. But there’s one hitch.”
My neck began to heat, and my heart rate slowed. “Oh?”
“Nothing crazy, but the waitlist can be up to a year long. However, there’s a spot available in the next group.” A pause hung in the air between us. “It starts next week on Monday and runs twice a week—the second day being Thursday. Would that work for you on such short notice?”
Relief washed over me. “Oh, fuck yeah it does. I thought for a minute I’d have to wait a whole year. A couple days is amazing,” I said.
“Great. I’m glad that works for you. So, whenever you have a free moment, if you want to pop down to the office before Monday to sign some paperwork for the program, I can fax it off to the facilitator.
If you come by and I’m in a meeting, it’ll be left with the receptionist,” Rachel said, like she was rattling off a script she’d said a hundred times before.
A weight floated off my shoulders—one I’d forgotten was even there.
“I’m sending you an email now to review the program and its requirements, especially regarding the group therapy portion. There are some mandatory sections I want you to fully understand. But other than that, you’re registered for Monday at 1:00 p.m.”
Elated by all the information, I didn’t have any further questions. “Thank you, Rachel. I appreciate it.”
“No problem, Lennon.” And then she was gone.
I raced to my laptop, flipped it open, and logged in, cursing it for lagging. “Could you load any fucking slower, you piece of shit?” I muttered while the spinning circle of death pulsed in the centre of the screen.
My impatience was spiralling out of control until the screen finally loaded. My email was already open, with one new message at the top. It was from Dr. Rachel Montgomery’s office, labelled: Information for Group.
I clicked on it. Below were paragraphs upon paragraphs of information about the group and how it related to me specifically. One section had been highlighted—clearly marked by Rachel.
Lennon,
Some of the key points to really take from this information package are as follows:
-GTFMHO is a group that runs twice a week with mandatory attendance for the program you’ve enrolled in
-you MUST complete the tasks provided by the group in order to be eligible for the program
-group participants are involved for a variety of reasons—not just from the program you’re enrolled in
-this group will run for twelve weeks
-you MUST sign the confidentiality form—it is different from the one we already signed
I was thinking that we should focus on just starting this group and getting a firm grasp on it before we tend to any other tasks that need hashing out. Particularly, since the group is a lengthier time commitment.
Let me know how this all sounds,
-Rachel
I appreciated that Rachel had put all the main thoughts I would’ve had into one point-form paragraph. She really was a good one. I quickly scanned through the rest of the email. The amount of information was overwhelming. If I’d wanted clarity, I definitely had it now.
As I scrolled up and down through the mountain of content, I wondered who the hell would sign up for this program without being forced to attend. Did people do this kind of shit for fun?
I closed my laptop and tossed it onto the opposite end of the couch.
Standing up, I reached for my phone to check the time.
I had messaged Jase yesterday after therapy to see if he could come by with his prescription.
It had taken some time, but he eventually got back to me last night and said he’d swing by at some point today to drop it off.
I was getting anxious, especially after reading that email. The dreams were in full swing these days.
It was getting worse.
Jase: Hey! I’ll be near your place around 3pm if that’s cool?
Jase had finally followed up, and relief washed over me. The amount of anxious energy I was carrying was starting to tip into something else. I was waiting for the program. Waiting for therapy. Waiting for drugs to fuck me up. Waiting for my long-awaited death.
Lennon: Perfect. See you then.
Looking at the time on my phone, I realized I didn’t have much longer to wait—just another hour. I could wait another hour. I didn’t need it that badly. Right?
It was just to help me feel numb. To get rid of the bad thoughts that circled endlessly in my mind. The drugs helped ease the weight I’d been carrying my whole life.
Just a little bit.
They made it just a little bit lighter.
Lying across my couch, the thought surfaced again—I only had to wait through the weekend before attending the group. That alone should’ve been a relief, but instead it had me on edge. I’d be sitting in a room full of people. People I was expected to talk in front of and share with.
What did this group even discuss, if not the fact that most of us probably wanted to fucking end it?
And what kind of tasks were we supposed to complete?
Those questions hadn’t been answered in the email Rachel sent—at least not that I could tell.
Granted, there had been a surplus of information, just nothing that said anything about specific assignments.
My body tensed when a new thought hit me: what if we had to do group work?
Fuck. That would be harder than it needed to be.
I couldn’t be paired with one of those fucking losers.
I hated people. I hated everyone. I hated the people running in the fucking streets, I hated happy people, I hated sad people. I hated them all.
Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath and felt the tension radiating through my bones. This was going to be a mountain to climb if it involved group work, open discussion, or anything requiring actual interaction. Ugh.
I’d assess the first day, then go from there.
Could I get over the fear of offing myself and being found?
Could I just fucking do it—and not care who discovered me or what they’d do with my corpse?
Why did I care so fucking much? It’s not like even if there was a heaven, I’d be in it watching from above.
I’d be rotting, burning in fucking hell.
As I lay there on the couch, my body started to drift into slumber, exhausted from all the mental noise—the unknown of what was coming Monday churning through me.
Just as I started slipping in and out of consciousness, the doorbell rang.
Jase was here.