Page 36 of Between Us

Blake

It’salmostmidnight,andI’m lying in bed, wide awake. I wouldn’t say I have sleep problems—anymore—because it’s rare and random. But it still happens often enough that I find myself wishing, not for the first time, that my anti-anxiety medication made me drowsy. Instead, I take my pill every morning; any later and it’ll be impossible to sleep. About a month ago, my therapist Catalina, and the psychiatrist she works with, decided it would be a good idea to up my dosage a bit. I didn’t disagree, since I was starting to show symptoms that made my mom worry again.

Margo and Meera leaving for college didn’t help, but it’s not their fault that I’m naturally an anxious mess. And I didn’t want them to be worried about me while they should be out, living their lives.

So, even though I was reluctant to go through the initial adjustment period again, I’m proud of myself for recognizing the signs. Especially the quiet symptoms that are so easy to ignore—like not going to the pool for days on end, or the frustrating combination of fatigue and restlessness that always finds me. There’s also the not eating because I’m constantly nauseous or the zoning out when my mom’s talking to me, that are harder to hide, even from myself.

Truthfully, I did it as much for them as I did for myself. And Catalina had to remind me, again, that it’s okay to hold onto the hope of other people if I can’t find it in myself sometimes.

So even though the higher dosage has fucked up my sleep the last couple of weeks, I can’t bring myself to complain about it when my head feels quiet most of the time, and I’m not nauseous just from existing.

With the exception of the last couple of days that is. It’s been pretty loud up there since I woke up yesterday, but it’s not only my anxiety that’s playing on a loop. It’s also Adrian.

My mind’s been replaying the last forty-eight hours and everything my mom said since I laid down. I haven’t tried to stop it necessarily, since one thing I’ve learned in therapy is fighting the thoughts is sometimes worse than giving them space. Sometimes we just need to let ourselves feel and think without shame.

Butfuck, for someone who can’t sleep worth crap tonight, I’m fucking tired.

It was a long day. A good day—no, agreatday if I feel like being honest with myself.

I know my friendship with Adrian is still new, but I’ve never felt like this before. So seen and understood. And that seems crazy because how could this impossibly perfect man understandme?

My phone lights up on my nightstand, pulling me from my obsessive thoughts.

Sat, October 4at 11:47 PM

Adrian

Thanks for today ??

I feel like I should probably be thanking you dude

Nah I was the lucky one

We could maybe do it again sometime?

“Oh my God,” I mutter to myself before shoving my face in my pillow. I don’t know if it’d be worse for him to leave me on read or reply and sayno.

Definitely being ghosted.Although being rejected by him would hurt horribly, I think.

Storm cloud

Are you asking me on a date?

“Fuck me.Who just calls someone out like out?” I quietly seethe.

Oh no

No no no

That’d be ridiculous right?

If I asked you out? HA

Decent joke though

I meant we could just like… hang out again?

Hang out?

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