There was a time when you didn’t know what it was like to laugh. There was a time when you had to rely on chemicals to keep from killing yourself, or even worse, losing yourself. There were days when the chemicals didn’t really work. That was when you searched frantically for a friendly face, someone who could show you what it was to be human again, as you could remember it. This would be particularly difficult, given that you realize that you are going through the cycle that will end with you reverting back to staring at the post-it that reads “Lower your need for affiliation”, while the familiar playlist drowns out the knocks on the locked door.
And you find one. You start breaking down all the walls that you built, you start re-building the bridge to cross over to sanity. You know that it’s an exercise in futility…but you have been cursed with the wretched “virtue” of hope. You re-learn to trust, to feel and act like a socially acceptable human being would. You retell all the old stories and spend time together, watching movies and playing games. You defy the muffled voice at the back of your head that keeps shouting that there is no point of it all.
Somewhere along the way, in your latent insanity, you feel that your companionship maybe detrimental to the friend, and tell him so. You even go to the extent of letting go of the last few remnants of the shred of pride you have to make amends with people who forced you into the shell. You tell him that he needs to find better company, and hope (“Double Headshot!”) that he will see through the sham. You forget that sometimes, the price of wanting something is getting what you want. So, you learn you lesson, yet again. And you move on.
Then, you realize, in a single bubble of lucidity, that you called him “brother”, and that you meant it. That is when you start to bleed…