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I’m scared this avalanche will be the final breaking point.

I’m slipping.

Slipping under the waves of assigned reading, endless social interaction, and a bottomless sea of pure sadness. Time is ticking too quickly as the tides come and go each day. The weekends have become blips in the constant cycle of expectations; you must be here and now—always smiling and at 100%. Don’t let everyone down, don’t disappoint, and don’t be the one to bring down the district’s precious test scores.

People tell me, “it’s okay to not be okay,” but I know they’re just saying that.

Have you ever had everything fall apart in one night?

Slammed doors and insults shouted at the ones they love the most lull you to sleep. When you wake up the next morning, eyes red from salt, afternoon light sifts through the shades. 

Is it really 1 p.m.? I’ve wasted my whole day. 

Struggling to ignore the pounding headache, proof of your dehydration, you carefully creep downstairs into a silent house. Later, the impossibly tangled “he said, she said” will be thoroughly explained in all its glory, each person insisting they were in the right and that the other absolutely betrayed them. 

How could I possibly choose who to believe?

This is by no means a new phenomenon; divisions like these are broken open once every other month, eventually being sewn together through uncomfortable silence and time. 

And when my friends ask me how my weekend was I actually laugh.

I don’t feel well. Not in the traditional sense—my head doesn’t hurt and I don’t have the flu. But I don’t feel well. Slowly, each limb in my body is growing more and more numb by the day. 

Apathy is a disease, an evil spreading through my veins. An infection you can’t quite detect until it’s too late. This bout has finally reached my heart, piercing it and draining every drop of passion and joy that was once abundant. When all is said and done, there is nothing but a wilted husk in its wake. Now I know why sadness is blue; it replaces the rich and vivid red of life, leaving nothing but an arctic cold behind. It seems like just a few weeks ago I was writing a column just like this one about finally being happy.

It was, I was. How could things have gotten so much worse in such little time?

In an effort to fix a multitude of health issues, I’ve caused many more. Essentially, I’m a walking negative side effect, a warning label brought to life. Dramatic? Sure. But there’s not much else to say that will sum up my genuine feelings. 

My head aches. 

My heart aches. 

I was never taught what to do in this situation; everything’s crashing down on me and I have no choice but to accept defeat and crumble under the weight.