I truly don't think anyone understands how depressed I am. And how close I am.

Book/screenplay

"I can't remember"

What do you mean you can't remember? What can't you remember?

"Him. I don't remember. I'm losing it..."

Well, start by talking about what you do remember, and then we'll go from there.

"That's just it. I've been sitting here for days going over and over everything in my head trying to remember his face, his touch, his smell, his laugh...and I can't. I dug out every picture we ever took and they are all over my bedroom floor, desk, table, bed, EVERYWHERE. I watched our home videos, I slept in his clothes, I even sprayed his cologne all over the house. But my mind can't keep a hold of him anymore. I'm going crazy...what am I going to do if I can't remember?"

Maybe it's time to move on. Your brain may be telling you something.

"Move on? How the hell am I supposed to move on? That's not just something that you do okay? You can't just sit there and tell me to move on!"

I'm not telling you to do anything.

"I can't take this anymore. I have to go...I have to get out of here!"

Where are you going? Come back here!

"No, I'm going back. I'm going to forest. I have to see where it happened."

That's a terrible idea. You can't put yourself through that! Stop!

"Let GO of me! You can't stop me! Just like I couldn't stop him! My life ended with his and I'm done pretending it didn't."

This isn't how it's supposed to be! You have so much to live for, so much left to do...please don't do this...

"It's too late. I have to go. Tell them I said goodbye okay? And that I'm sorry.."

Please don't go...

"I don't have any other choice. I can't make you understand why this is my only option. I've got to go. Don't come after me"

Sometimes I feel like I don't have any friends. Like I'm the only person in the room, in the building, in the world. Hearing the laughter around me but still being alone is brutal.

I know I have friends. But I feel like they just don't care anymore. Or maybe it's me. Maybe I don't care anymore.

How do you start caring again?

What if you don't?

She let the anger rise. It began to take over, filling her eyes with hot tears that pour down her face. The drops fall onto the floor, soaking into the carpet until there is a small dark splotch in front of her. Every muscle in her body is aching to react, every vein is coursing with venom. It takes all of her self control to stop herself from doing something she'll regret tomorrow. But what is regret in anger anyway? It's just an excuse for the weak.

She opens that back drawer deep in her closet, and digging beneath mounds of clothes she searches. Past tee-shirts with band names, and boy cut underwear, and a myriad of colored tank tops, there it is. Wrapped in a torn handkerchief is her long held friend. It's cold from disuse, buried here for months, almost unforgotten. The metal on her fingertips brings a smile to her face. She runs her thumb gently over the blade, ready to see it in action again. The handle fits so perfectly in her hand. No matter how long it's been, and it's been just a week and a half short of 6 months--just about the time it usually happens-- it still fits like clockwork. She doesn't forget the motions, doesn't forget the precautions and the details that go with it. Instead they flood back to her and she knows exactly what to do and how to do it. And it's funny that it's almost been 6 months. Since he came into her life, she hasn't been able to make it to 6 months. It's as if life lets her be until it knows that she's about to find the strength to continue, and then it strikes.

And she doesn't fight it. She will let it happen once again. There is no reason not to. Everyone who knows, says they care. But they never ask her about it, they never bring it up, they act like it doesn't exist. And she doesn't speak a word anymore. And they never know. She thought that by telling people about her most hidden sin, that they would keep her accountable and stop her from hurting herself. But no one cares. He said he cared and that he would never let her go back to hiding it again. And yet she doesn't even have to try to hide it from him because he's not even looking. No one is looking.

And she likes it like that.

That blade is heavy in her hand, and she knows it's time. She gets the bandages and lays out her poison on the counter in the bathroom. With a satisfied smile, she shuts and locks the door, even though she's alone in her apartment anyway. With the click of the door, the clock resets itself and the anger takes over.

And no matter how much she tries to stop it, her addiction wins again.

Another part of the book/screenplay

It's that first kiss that changes everything. There's only one real first kiss for a person, but with each new relationship, there is a first kiss. And that is the kiss that I'm talking about.

It's that moment right before when your heart starts to race, your breathing stops, and you lose the ability to speak. In the milliseconds before your lips meet, there is a pause. That pause speaks louder than a hundred love songs, than a thousand poems about the beauty of life. And in that moment, everything makes sense.

And then lips touch. And time stands still. And your heart soars, your mind is clear, and everything else just disappears. No matter how long the kiss, even if for just a moment, you feel like the most beautiful person in his world.

That's how she felt the first time they kissed. That very first time changed everything. And now as she stands alone at the top of the hill, looking down on the crowd surrounding that damned hole in the ground, and she thinks of that kiss. It couldn't have been more perfect, but it's long gone now. She would give her life to have one more chance to experience his lips touching hers. To hear him speak her name in a whisper. But there will never be another chance to be in that place with him. Everything is wrong.

And that first kiss is the solution. All she needs is one more chance, and she'll never get it. She stands on the hill, her long dark hair blowing in the wind, her sweater fluttering around her crossed arms. A steady stream of tears continues to fall, and she closes her eyes and dreams of that first kiss. She pretends her arms are his, she pretends she is in that moment before his lips touch hers. She waits patiently for impact, knowing it will never come.

And I watch her standing there. I know I can't help her, I know I can't touch her, I know I've created this mess she's in. But I smile because I know how this all ends. It's my story, it's my creation. I will let her suffer now, because it's the most important thing that will ever happen to her. This is her defining moment. And that first kiss? That kiss was mine to give. It's memory is mine, it's emotions are mine. But I will let her borrow them in this moment. Because she needs them much more than I do.

For now.

There is no where to run.
No where to hide.
No escape.
No chance.

You are always there. Watching, helping, loving, healing.

And even when we want to run, hide, escape...we can't. We are trapped; forever entangled in Your web of grace. You have already won this battle. You have stopped these storms, calmed these fears, dried these tears.

We just forget.
We ignore You.
Fight Your love.
Fight Your plan.
Turn away from Your voice.

And You wait. Patient, hurting for us, desperate to hold us again; You wait.

Thank You, God for waiting.

Lightening strikes. The clouds billow in, darkening the once bright sky. Thunder rumbles in the distance. The rain begins to fall. It's slow at first, just fat drops scattered over the landscape. They begin to fall faster, spreading thin as they fall, the ground begins to moisten. With one loud thunderclap, the heavens open. The downpour of water comes like a thief in the night. Unexpected, deadly, and leaving the earth below defenseless. Soon, puddles gather in the indents on the well worn roads and walkways. They begin to merge, join together and the rain seems to fall twice. Once as it hits the puddles and then again as the splash and ripples collide. The lightening is terrifying, and the illumination from the strikes makes the darkness look like dawn. The water rises and the rain continues to fall. It falls faster, as if seeing the flood rise fuels the clouds to pour down more. More vengeance, more anger, more pain. Eventually the rain begins to slow. It was inevitable that the precipitation in the air couldn't last forever. As the rain ceases, the clouds dissipate and the lightening and thunder roll on with the swiftly drifting clouds. The sky becomes clear once again.

But the ground? Oh, the ground.

It's destroyed. Wrecked, bruised, altered permanently--never to be returned to the state it was before the rain fell. The ground can try to fix itself but that is not in it's power. And the poor people can try to put the ground back in shape but their efforts are useless. There is no hope for the ground. It's ruined. And every time the rain falls, it will further be desecrated. It's a shame, it's a crime, but it's nature. It's life at it's finest. It's the name of the game.

Did you think I was talking about real rain and landscape? Oh no dear, this is what your presence did to my life.