I am FINALLY back for such a long hiatus. School at the end was horrible with events with both Show Choir and Band occurring often on the same day. I had 6 performances in 1 week, 5 Show Choir (full 1:30 hour shows), and 1 band concert.... etc. It was hectic, and then school let out. Let's just say that I was asleep more than I was awake for a week or two.
Now, I'm involved with voice lessons, an acting class, and a new job as a carhop.
This will probably be my last chapter for a while, as I'll be too busy to try to fit in everything. So, until I post again, thank you all so much for reading and reviewing this story/autobiography... well, not so much a true autobiography, as I didn't drag anyone down the depths of depression with me... Just think of Charles Dickens and his story David Copperfield. Right now, this is the closest to an autobiography as I'll be able to write.
Anyways, ta-ta for now, and thanks especially to Tracy who has reviewed and e-mailed me since the beginning of this story.
~~~*~~~
Jesse isn't going to take the easy way. He's refusing to be medicated. I could see the validity in his opposition in not wanting to take anti-depressants, but I can also see the validity in him taking them. It's a fine line to walk, and I don't begrudge Jesse of it.
He said that he would come by my office after he saw "The Great" Dr. May, so after his appointment, he came slinking in.
"Hello, Jess. How'd it go?" I asked, concerned at the terse look in his eyes.
"Horrible. He wants to put me on medicine. I had enough of that when I was 16. I can't tell you how horrible the side effects were. Besides, I don't like the idea of having to take a medicine to function," he said, snarling his nose.
"If you had diabetes, would you not take insulin because you didn't like the idea of taking medicine to function?" I asked him, questioning the logic in his reasoning. He looked like a trapped rat.
"I would there, but this is different. I don't want to turn into a walking drugged zombie," he said.
"There is a high chance you wouldn't," I said. Jesse sighed. "I'm not telling you that you should. Just think about it, and talk to someone who's been on some type of anti-depressants," I suggested.
"Ok, Mark. I'll think about it," he said, conceding at least for the time being. "Thanks."
"Anytime, my friend. Anytime."
~~*~~
"Hey, Dad," Steve said after he came home from work.
"Hey Steve. What's up?" I said, seeing the look in his eyes I want to talk but I don't know how to approach the subject.
"It's Jesse. I know he's on the road to recovery, but that doesn't mean that I'm not worried about him," he said, not quite meeting my eyes.
"It's scary, I know. But he has his friends to help him," I assured him.
Steve nodded slightly. He bit his bottom lip, still unsure about the whole thing.
I put my arm around his shoulder, and I could feel a bit of the trembling cease. "I will do everything to help him, and I know you will do everything. We will help him," I said. He nodded, a bit surer.
~~*~~
When I first saw him back in the ER, working, I was worried. But when the first trauma was rolled in, he seemed to be back to his old self.
"ABG, Chem panel, chest x-ray, o neg..." he barked out when a car crash victim rolled in. An hour later, after the patient had been stabilized, Jesse sat in the doctor's lounge, looking tired and worn out.
"What's wrong?" I asked, concerned for his well being after all was said and done.
"Just tired. Adrenalin let-down," he explained.
"And what else?" I asked, probing further.
"Just tired. Nothing else," he said. There was a that I want to talk about tacked on to the end of that sentence.
I nodded my head, knowing that pushing him too hard would drive him away. I sat down across from him.
"I'm just so tired of it all," he said quietly a few minutes later. "The pretending, the dark cloud that seems to never go away, the guilt of everything when I've done nothing wrong." His voice broke slightly, and he took a deep breath. "I'm so tired of it."
"Jesse..." I said, not knowing what to say. "I'm here to help you fight, if you need me to," I said.
"Thanks, Mark."
~~*~~
*knock, knock* "Mark?" a voice on the other side of my office door asked.
"Ramona," I said. "Come in."
She stood shyly at the door before coming in.
"Can I talk to you about something?"
"Yes, anything," I said. "Have a seat."
She sat in silence.
"What do you want to talk about?" I asked, trying to break the silence.
"Um, Jesse. I'm worried about him. I mean, I'm worried about Meg, of course, since I'm her mother, but Jesse, well, he's the closest thing to a friend Meg has ever had, and well, I feel kind of indebted to him because he helped save her life, and well," she rushed out before taking a breath. She sat and took a deep breath and let it out. "I just want to know if there is any way I can help Jesse," she said at last.
"Right now, he's being too stubborn to accept help. He's going to therapy, but I think it's just with the illusion of "getting help". Now, the only way to help him is to just be there when he either opens up or breaks down. The more probable of the two is the latter," I admitted with a sigh.
"That's what I was afraid of," she said. "I feel like this is all of my
fault. If I hadn't moved in the same
building as Jesse lived, if I had been there for Meg, she wouldn't be so messed
up, if I had chosen my boyfriends more wisely, then maybe..." she said,
her voice cracking at the end.
"Ramona, there is nothing you can do now," I said, circumventing the desk to put an arm on her shoulder. "'What if' focuses on the past, and right now, the past isn't where you need to be. You need to focus on now, and how you are going to help both Meg and Jesse."
She nodded, got up, and hugged me. "Thank you, Mark," she whispered. "For everything."
