Remember to Forget, Revised and Expanded (21 page)
Those were the last words I spoke for months.
My mum thought I wasn't speaking after the funeral because I was so sad. She was
right. I don't think anyone suspected I would stop talking forever. They thought
it was just a temporary effect of my grief. I did too, at first. But then it got
to the point where I didn't want to talk to anyone about anything. I wanted to keep
to myself and not have to answer anyone's questions. It was easier that way. Plus,
if Delia wasn't there to talk to, I didn't see the point.
Once I hadn't spoken or left the house for three weeks, my mum decided it was best
that I get a therapist, even though I refused. At this point, I was completely falling
behind in school,
I hadn't seen anyone but my mum and Caleb, and I was sinking deeper
and deeper into depression. There was nothing I could do to stop myself from getting
so bad. I had lost control over my mind and believed the world was out to get me.
The first therapist I saw was Dr. Watson. She preferred to have me call her by her
last name, and I never even found out her first name. I suspect it was something
like Gretchen; that would have fit her well. She was at least sixty years old, with
thin-rimmed glasses that always slid down her nose. Dr. Watson didn't help me cope
much. She would just ask me questions; she wouldn't give me any solutions. I also
wouldn't give her answers, so I'm partially to blame for that. But she's the one
that diagnosed me with clinical depression and suggested I start taking medication.
My mum was hesitant to sign off, because at the time I was only sixteen, and she
didn't want me to be hooked on depression meds the rest of my life.
It took one week after I met Dr. Watson for Mum to sign the forms allowing me to
be medicated.
That week I had my first bad panic attack. I remember it vividly. I was asleep and
having a nightmare about Delia. I could see her getting into the car accident, except
I was the one driving, and she was in the passenger seat. I saw her unconscious,
but I was fine and left without any injuries. I couldn't help her, I couldn't even
reach her. The EMT's were screaming at me, saying I killed her.
Then I woke up, drenched in sweat and with my heart was racing. I could barely breathe
or feel any part of my body. I was completely numb and shaking uncontrollably. I
had no idea what was happening, and it still felt like I was dreaming. I woke up
from a nightmare to reality, which wasn't much better.
My mum was instantly at my bedsideâapparently, I had been punching the wall while
I slept. She rushed me to the emergency room, where I was carted off to an area of
the hospital that was only separated by thin curtains.
I was there for a day. It was the first time in my life that I had ever had a panic
attack, had to be connected to oxygen, and had
to be admitted into the emergency
room. None of that helped my situation at all; I think it just made it worse. That's
when I realized how bad I really was, and I thought I was at the point of no return.
At that moment, I was more afraid of living than I was of dying. That's what scared
me the most.
I started Citalopram the day after I left the hospital. Dr. Watson explained to me
how my brain needed help with the reuptake of some neurotransmitters and a bunch
of stuff I didn't really care about. I didn't think the pills would help, but I took
them, mostly because I was being told to. I didn't understand anything she told me
anyway.
I also was forced to go to teen therapy sessions. I went to one every week for five
weeks. It didn't help me at all. I had nothing to share since I didn't talk. There
was no point in me being there. All it did was make me see how messed up I was. I
didn't connect to anyone there like doctors said I would. I felt more alone than
I ever had.
Surprisingly, Citalopram helped, and I've been on it ever since. When I would get
better though, I would stop taking it, or sometimes I didn't want to be dependent
on it anymore, so I just wouldn't take it for a few days. The longest was three weeks.
That's when things got
really
bad.
When it got to that really bad placeâand I mean, really badâI was admitted to the
psychiatric ward of a hospital that was three hours away. I was hardly sleeping,
eating, or having any sort of communication with my mum. She was worried I would
never want to speak again, which I didn't. She, as well as my therapist at the timeâwho
I think was my third oneâdecided it would be best if I was sent there. They said
I had selective mutism, meaning I chose not to speak. Most selective mutes only speak
where they are comfortable, but of course I was the abnormal patient that spoke to
absolutely no one. I don't like using that term, because it makes it seem like I
made the choice to be like this. Which I did not. This all just crept up on me and
turned me into a completely different person.
I stayed at the hospital for almost a month. I was on a constant schedule. They
told me when I could eat, when to take my pills, when to sleep. I basically didn't
have too much of a choice in anything. I spent most of the time in solitude, because
who really wants to have a conversation with someone who won't respond?
Being there did help a little. Once Delia passed, I didn't communicate with anyone
besides my mum. I would occasionally nod or shrug, but that was about it. I would
carry a notepad around sometimes, but would only write notes when absolutely necessary.
Then one of the doctors at the facility showed me how to use the speak setting on
my phone. That became my way of communication. Slowly, I started conversing with
others through my phone. I was finally feeling slightly better, like things were
actually looking up. Not by much, but it was a start.
They even had a tutor for me at the hospital. I didn't pay attention to anything
because I didn't really care. Education wasn't my top priority, not that I had any
priorities. Shortly after, I decided it was best to drop out of school altogether.
It was causing me more stress and not doing me any good. Looking back now, I kind
of wish I'd stayed in school.
After I left the hospital, nothing changed. I was still depressed and angry all the
time. The pills made it slightly more tolerable, but not by much. I was still miserable.
Now I'm here, halfway across the world. I never would have thought I'd be in this
position. If someone told me months ago that I'd be living with my dad in Maine,
actually speaking and having a solid group of friends, I would've thought they were
joking.
But my reality is no longer a nightmare. I can breathe easy again, most of the time.
It's like a spark was lit inside me and keeps glimmering even in my darkest moments
when I think it's blown out.
I just told Delilah all of that. She knows almost everything there is to know. I
have never opened up to anyone about most of those feelings and experiences. It feels
nice to finally get it all out, as if a weight has been lifted off my shoulders.
Now I don't have
to hold it all inside me. It's out in the open now and is no longer
tying me down. Writing it all down was almost like letting it go, like I don't have
to keep all that a secret anymore from Delilah. She knows my full story now.
As we sit together after everything I revealed, it's clear Delilah isn't judging
me for it, and it's not changing her perception of me. She's accepting it and understanding.
Delilah isn't telling me how I should feel or not feel. She's just letting me be
me. She's fine with me.
That's the best thing I could've asked for.
A
fter an emotional rollercoaster, with crying and sadness and hugging, Delilah and
I decide we should go do something. We need to be happier. I don't really want to,
but I don't want to sit inside and wallow in my sadness either. We're about to go
for a walk when I look out the window and see what's outside.
Snow.
In the past hour, at least four inches of snow has blanketed the ground.
I point outside continuously until Delilah looks over.
“What?” she asks, walking over to the window. “Oh, it's still snowing? It started
a little when I came over,” she says. She sounds unhappy about the snow. But this
is the coolest thing I've ever seen!
I smile widely and run outside.
“Levi, you're gonna freeze! It's just snow!” Delilah says, laughing. She stands in
the doorway with her arms wrapped around herself.
I stop in the middle of the driveway with my arms open wide and stick out my tongue.
The snowflakes feel extremely cold against my skin. They melt within seconds. I try
to see the shapes, but they're so tiny I can't.
I pick up a handful of snow and try to make a snowball like I've seen in movies,
but it's a lot harder than it looks. My hands freeze within seconds. I didn't realize
snow was this cold.
“You're acting like you've never seen snow before!” Delilah yells from inside. “Wait,
this is the first time you've seen snow, isn't it?”
I nod quickly and run back inside. I put on my jacket, beanie, and gloves, despite
the fact I'm already cold and somewhat wet. I grab Delilah's hand and try to bring
her outside.
“All I have is a jacket to keep me warm!” she says.
I quickly go into my room to search for my other beanies and a pair of gloves. I
throw each at Delilah, and she tries to catch but misses.
I wait impatiently while she puts everything on. Once she is ready, I run back outside.
“By the time it's Christmas, you're gonna hate the snow,” Delilah tells me.
I shake my head and stick my tongue out at her. I could never hate the snow; this
is amazing.
I try to make another snowball, and this time it comes out better. I throw it at
Delilah, and she shrieks when it hits her.
“Hey!” she yells, making a snowball too. She tosses it at me, and I laugh.
This is so fun. I could stay out here forever. The snow is so cool, not just in the
literal way.
I march through the snow, listening to it crunch under my feet. My feet sink deep
with every step. I can feel snow soaking through my shoes, but I don't care. It looks
so pretty and clean and white.
Delilah is far behind me, so I walk back over to her. She's kneeling in the snow,
making what looks like a giant snowball. I look at her in confusion.
“You're kidding, right?” she asks.
I shake my head.
“You don't even know how to make a snowman?”
I widen my eyes in excitement and kneel down beside her. She rolls the snowball across
the lawn, which makes it bigger. I'm amazed at how the snow just sticks together
like that. I can't stop smiling.
The snow continues to fall quickly, and I'm freezing. I don't care, because I'm having
so much fun. We lift the snowman's head onto the body, and it looks so cool. I never
thought I'd make a snowman. I never thought I'd ever see snow. I feel like a little
kid again.
I find two big sticks and use them for arms. We go inside in search for a carrot
nose, but find nothing, which is upsetting. It can't be a snowman without a carrot
nose. The first snowman I make has to be great. I only find one glove for the snowman,
so I get an oven mitt for the other hand.
“I think Lucy has a snowman kit,” Delilah says. “Wanna go get it?”
I nod enthusiastically and quickly go back outside. I walk through the snow as fast
as possible to get to Delilah's house. When we go inside, Delilah's mom is pulling
a boot onto Lucy's foot. She's wearing a snowsuit and thick gloves. She looks like
a pink marshmallow.
“Levi!” she shrieks through the scarf that's wrapped around her face.
I wave, which feels weird since my hand is frozen.
“Are you two cold?” Delilah's mom asks in concern.
“We're fine,” Delilah says, but I know she's chilled. She looks over at me and says,
“I'm gonna go look for the snowman kit.”
I follow her downstairs and help look. We find it behind a toolbox, and we both reach
for it at the same time. She laughs and lets me take it.
“After we finish the snowman, should we make hot chocolate?” she asks while walking
back upstairs.
I nod, even though she can't see me since she's in front. She turns around, however,
to see my answer.
“You've had hot chocolate, right?” she asks.
I nod again. There's hot chocolate in Australia.
“Okay, good,” she says, smiling.
“We're making a snowman?!” Lucy yells excitedly when she sees me holding the kit.
I nod.
“I knew you'd wanna come,” Delilah says. “C'mon, let's go. Just promise you won't
get too cold and make us go inside.”
“I pinky promise. I never ever get too cold!”
“She gets cold within five minutes,” Delilah whispers to me.
We walk back to my house, which takes forever since Lucy has trouble walking through
the snow. Her legs can't move very well in her snowsuit, and the snow is deep for
her since she's so short. I hold her hand to help her, or else she'd fall down.
On the way past Aiden's, he opens the door, with Hunter next to him. “Making a snowman?”
Aiden asks.
“Yeah!” Lucy yells. “Hi, Aiden! Hi, Hunter!”
She waves her hand, even though her arm can only move up a few inches with her jacket
on.
“We're going sledding!” Hunter yells.
“Have fun!” Delilah tells them.
Aiden rolls his eyes. “Oh, we will!”
We keep walking to my house, until Lucy starts to complain.
“It's . . . too . . . hard . . . to . . . walk!” Lucy yells. She says each word in
time with a step.