It Hides in Plain Sight

The city looked so lively from up here. You couldn’t tell that below it was a corrupt and damaged world. For the first time in a long time, I took a real breath of air. It sounds idiotic, I breathe all day, everyday. But never outright, not like this. I sat on the edge with my eyes closed and just tried to remember this exact moment, every inhale. I never wanted this moment to stop, I wanted to stay here and just breathe. I let the cold night air sting as it went down my throat because the pain reminded me I was still alive. That even though the world was still and I had found peace, I’d have to open my eyes again sooner or later. I’d have to return to the world and face reality. But for now, I enjoyed my last first breath.

It wasn’t too dark out tonight as I turned into the alleyway, watching cars go by in slow motion. Tears and black eyeliner streamed down my cheeks, bottle in one hand and self-pity in the other. I staggered back and forth attempting to cross the street, ultimately getting to the other side by some miracle. The rest of the night is one big blur. Maybe that’s by choice, or maybe the amount of alcohol I consumed in one night. I only remember the sky feeling darker and darker as I crept through that alleyway. How I got to my house is still a complete mystery to me, but somehow I awoke in the morning on my living room floor. Covered in the scent of stale beer and regret, I did the walk of shame to my bathroom and instantly took a steaming hot shower to wash away my sins. I couldn’t tell if it was disappointing or impressive, this was where life had led me. I didn’t even have a job, let alone a single aspect of my life together. Once out of the shower I did the usual routine; antidepressants followed by some small wardrobe changes and a coffee. Just as I sat down to waste the rest of the day in front of the TV, the phone rang.

“Yes?” I answered, annoyed at this interruption.

“Bree, you can’t ignore me forever.” I could hear the angst in her voice. It was my mother.

“Well, I'll certainly try,” and I hung up the phone.

My mother and I never got along. I’d changed my number so she couldn't bother me anymore, because I had my own issues to deal with, but she always found a way. She never cared and we both knew it. Then the phone started ringing again.

“Listen, I’m your mother! I gave you life, the least you could do is tell me how you’re doing!” Her tone changed completely.

“Well hello to you too. Regrettably, I don’t really have any exciting news. Stop calling.” Now I was getting angry. I didn’t have time for this.

“You know your father would not be impressed by this─” I hung up and blocked the number.

All of a sudden I’d lost interest in watching TV. Instead, I went out back and lit up a cigarette; the clock on the wall showing it was already noon. I’d slept away what remained of the morning and my mood was at an all-time low. So, naturally, I just sat on my balcony and let myself destress. I had to become desensitized in order to make it through the day, it was my way of survival. Very few knew about my depression. I hid it well. It stayed with me, and a select few. A few times I think my mother noticed but she never reached out. My attention shifted to the stack of papers I’d left on the table. They were from my Ontario Works counselor. I sat and flipped through; the documents detailed my request to keep receiving payment. I was getting too old and I knew they’d cut me off, but I just went on hoping for a miracle. I could obsess over them all day, but instead of wasting more time I went back inside and decided I was going to be productive, starting by cleaning my living room, which hadn’t seen a clean floor in a while. Last night was the first time I’d left my apartment in three months, it was my comfort zone. Things were never the same when my dad died, he was the only one who understood me, so I kept to myself. This apartment was my safe space.

While I piled up a storage of old pizza boxes, socks and general garbage, something caught my attention. Hiding underneath an old, stained sweatshirt was a photo album. I shoved the garbage remains aside and laid the album in front of me. It was mostly pictures of my dad and me, when I was young. He was my best friend, without a doubt, he was my inspiration. There was a picture inside of me in his arms, smiling. I remember that day so well. I was four and we were walking to the store when I’d fallen down on the sidewalk. Of course, I threw a huge fit, and my mom was yelling at me to get up. But not my dad. He just sat beside me and pretended to throw a fit too.

When I started laughing at him he turned and said, “See how silly you look? You’re a tough girl! Let's get up and keep going.” And I did, going right into his arms.

When he died I became stuck in a really bad depression. It was like an invisible cloud over my head. My mom fell off the edge and left me all alone. I left a little over three years ago to move out on my own, with the help of Ontario Works, of course. I was still under it’s wing and I doubted I could survive without it. I kept flipping through the album but I felt my hands trembling against its cover. I missed him every day. Finally, I succumbed to my emotions and let the tears flow. I chucked the book across the room and curled up on the couch. This wasn't out of the ordinary, but if I could I avoided rehashing these feelings. Just then the phone started ringing. I stared at it for a good minute before approaching it, checking to see if it was her again. But it wasn’t. This time it was my worker.

“Hey, Bree. Is it okay if I come in today?” Her voice trailed off. “It’s about your request.”

“Oh? Did you get a chance to review it?” I felt weak as the words fell off my tongue.

“Bree...look, I don’t know how else to put this. You aren’t eligible anymore. You need to start working, you know you can. We can discuss your options in person but I─”

I hung up. This was what I feared. I couldn’t work, I couldn’t even leave the house. It was hard enough for me to get up in the morning some days. So instead of torturing myself worrying, I went to the couch and turned on the TV to distract myself.

I woke up four hours later, the clock resting at 7:27 PM. I groggily rubbed my eyes and made my way into the kitchen. I grabbed the bottle of Captain Morgan off the counter and let it slide down my throat. The burn hurt, but I accepted it. Bills had piled up on my kitchen table, and I knew I’d eventually have to deal with them. Laying my laptop out on the table, I started filing through the bills. I logged into my bank account and felt my stomach turn. There was nothing in there, just the zeros mocking me. I realized how alone I was in this moment. Financially, emotionally, and mentally I’d screwed myself. There was nothing left to do. I grabbed a light coat and left out the front door, leaving it open as I wandered into the hallway.

So here I sat. Taking my first breath of fresh air on the roof of my apartment. I don’t know how I’d made it this far, and I didn’t know why I was still going. I had nothing to live for. I let my feet dangle on the edge. Maybe this was meant to be. I closed my eyes and saw his face, and everything felt okay. I let my grip on the siding go, and fell back into his arms.