Page 1 of Way Down Deep

1

Friday

Unknown Number

3.03am

I know it’s pointless, writing to you. I know you won’t text back.

But I’ve been stuffing everything down for so long, if I don’t put it into words it’s going to rot me from the inside out.

This town’s the size of a mud puddle, but it still feels like I’m drowning here. Drowning in strangers. Drowning in silence, more than anything else.

Drowning doesn’t even sound that bad, some days. People say suicide is the coward’s way out, but is it? Doing nothing is cowardly. Suicide takes action.

Jesus, this is so pathetic. Thank fuck you’ll never actually read this. Anyhow. Goodnight, wherever you are.

2

Saturday

1.46am

I’ve rewrote this text fifty times, and gone back and forth on whether to reply about a million times more. Even now I’ve got no clue whether I should be saying something—because I’m not the person you want to talk to. I don’t know who this person is or whether they care or not but I can tell you this:

I care. I care about you, stranger. At least enough to try throwing you a life jacket before your head disappears beneath the water line.

Yeah, suicide does take action.

But staying afloat takes more when you’ve got nothing to hold onto.

So just grab a hold of this, okay?

3

Sunday

9.10am

Oh my god, I’m SO sorry. This used to be someone else’s number.

That’s super fucked up, that I probably woke you with all that psycho sad sack bullshit at 3am. You were really kind to reply, but don’t waste any more time worrying about me. I probably drank a little more than I should have that night.

I’m okay, really. Just feeling sorry for myself. Though now I feel like such a crazy melodramatic asshole, there’s not much room left over for self-pity. I guess I have you to thank for that. So thanks, stranger.

Sorry again. I promise I’ll delete this number now.

1.05pm

I just spent pretty much all morning trying to decide what to do. I’d hit on a possible answer while eating breakfast, then by the time I was done it would seem like the most foolish words that anyone has ever spoken. At one point, I even made a pros and cons list for the two main options, but still didn’t really get much closer. Which sounds pretty extreme, I know, but then even the smallest answers feel dangerous.

I mean, I could say you don’t seem melodramatic. But what if that makes you slide back into the water? And if I say you did, I’m definitely going to be that arsehole who rolls their eyes and jokes about people who are depressed.

So in the end, I thought I’d skip out on both and choose option three:

Don’t delete my number.

Or at least, don’t delete it because you think you bothered me. Even if expressing depressed feelings falls into that category, I’m never doing anything that you could possibly interrupt. As we speak, I’m sprawled on my couch in pyjamas I’ve yet to change out of, while the fiftieth episode of something I’m not even watching plays on the TV.

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