A New Perspective

Lisa: Haha no competetion here, more bribing going on! We're not allowed to read each
others chapters until there posted. Lets just say we've gotten really good at talking each
other out of doing homework recently _ Thank you so much for commenting, I really
really appreciate it. Getting feedback is the biggest motivation for me to post again. I'm
glad you love Rowan so much! I hope you learn a little more about Noah in this chapter,
even if it may not be about his sexuality. Thanks again! Please don't stop reviewing!


* * * * * * * * *

I am jarred back to reality as Professor Erickson's buzzer goes off and she announces to
the class that the model and the class can take a fifteen-minute break. I hate being told
when to take a break. It always brings me out of my zone. "The Zone" is always a
precious place for an artist. I know I'm being selfish, obviously the model needs a break,
hell I've taken three already. I'm not a slacker, I just always have to step away, it's kind
of like reading something you've written out loud for the first time, all of a sudden you
realize your missing a word, or something doesn't flow right. That's what walking away
from a painting or drawing does for an artist. I just don't like when someone makes that
decision for me, I like being able to work when I want to work. I put my knife down on
my palette and follow everyone's slow movements out the door.

There are couches in the hallway; if you aren't one of the first fifteen people to leave the
room then you have to sit on the floor. Since I was the last, looks like it's my only option.
I think I'll go find some coffee. I'm usually a social person in groups; I've been told that
my smile and laughter is pretty contagious. If someone wants to get a good response from
a joke they've recently learned, they find me. I don't feel like being that person today.

I step outside, it's a cloudy day and a bit cooler than it has been the past few weeks. But
the air feels nice, washing the heat off my skin. When I'm making art my body
temperature always rises, I think it may be from focusing so much. It's an odd sensation.

My phone vibrates in my pocket as I walk along the building towards the coffee truck. I
check the screen, it's a text from my mom.

Brinley asked to me if she could go to a counselor, she's depressed. You need to talk to
her Noah. I'll call you later.

She says it so casually, but its not, it's not casual at all.

I freeze in my tracks.

This cannot be possible. I shake my head over and over and start to step backwards. I'm
not processing anything around me, not even the odd looks I'm getting, or the fact that I
am just whispering, "No" over and over under my breath.

I run.

I don't know where I'm going but I can't stop.

I reach the edge of College woods, not stopping; I plunge underneath its dark blanket of
trees and keep running. My throat is burning, my lungs are burning, my eyes are burning,
Finally my legs start burning and so I stop. Hands on my thighs, choking and gasping for
air. And I fall down on my knees, head in my hands. I cry.

For the first time since last December I cry. And I cannot stop.

I don't know how long it's been, but I finally lean back against the tree behind me. I have
no energy, none. It's getting darker and colder. But I don't care. I don't care about
anything right now. I can't. I wouldn't be able to breathe.

I feel like something is sitting on my chest. I can't breathe deep. The light is really
starting to fade fast. I should get up. I won't be able to find my way out of here soon.

I stand up shakily and start walking, I have no idea how, but I do. I feel numb. I don't feel
my arms. I don't feel my legs. I don't even feel my body, just emptiness and its scary.
Maybe this is what its like.

It takes me around a half an hour to exit the forest, I had run far. I reach the edge just
after the sun sets. The sky is not completely lost to the night but the street lights of
campus have turned on already. Lighting up the sidewalk for me. I walk slowly. Hoping
not to pass anyone on my way back to the dorm. I don't want to be near anyone right
now. I'm sure my moms called already but I can't talk to her. Not now. Which is
completely and utterly selfish of me, she needs me, and I'm letting her down, for my own
damn weakness. I can't think about it or I may not make it back to my bed tonight.

I look down at my writing on my wrist. Rubbing it with my thumb.

Every once in a great, great while, I fucking hate society. Especially when it hurts my
little sister.

I don't remember but somehow I'm outside door 322. My relief of finally making it back,
ceases when I think about the fact that he's probably in there, and is going to ask what's
wrong. I'm going to have to tell him, and saying it out loud, is going to make it real. I
simply rest my hand on the doorknob; I can't bring myself to turn it though. Rowan
must've felt me on the other side though, cause it swings open a second later. I don't look
at him. I can't make eye contact right now. But I know he's looking at me. Trying to
figure out what's wrong without asking me. I must look horrible.

I walk in the room, my movement's heavy, finally collapsing on my bed. I close my eyes.

* * * * * * * * * * *

I don't remember falling asleep, or much of anything since I received my mom's text.
When I open my eyes. I'm curled on my bed but someone has removed my shoes and put
a thin blanket over me. I look down at the corner of my bed, into Rowan's eyes. Then I
look away.

"Brinley's asked my mom to see a counselor. She's depressed." I'm not sure where I got
the energy to say that, but I knew if I didn't he would just keep looking at me like that.

I can't bring myself to look at him. I don't want to see the pity etched into his features; it
would make me feel worse, and embarrassed somehow. He knows, He was the one I was
talking too last December when I found out my aunt had commit suicide. He's been there
every time I got a call saying I need to come home cause my brother is suicidal, and may
have done some violent things. I needed to go home. I needed to fix it. I always have to
fix it.

I've told him what happened to my mom after seeing her mother die, then putting our dog
to sleep, then having her sister commit suicide, to our other dog dieing during surgery, to
her great grandmother dying, all within the span of 3 years. She completely lost herself.
She walks around an empty shell, and I can't help but think that she is just slowly killing
herself. And now on top of all that, my sister is depressed too.

He doesn't say anything, just crawls along the bed and lies down behind me, holding me
tightly to his chest. And I don't know how its possible, but I cry again. Until I fall asleep.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

The next morning is one of those mornings, were you wake up with a heavy feeling, like
something is off, but you can't remember what right away. Then as soon as you think of
it, you wish you were still unconscious. That's what just happened. Rowan's still
wrapped around me protectively, which is the only good thing about being awake right
now. My whole body feels achy, sore, tired, and I wish I could stop myself from thinking
for the rest of the day. Rowan knows that I'm awake, even though I haven't moved yet.
His hand reaches lazily up to my hair, his fingers running through it softly, up the back of
my neck, behind my ear and then brushes along my scalp, creating a rhythm. I make my
brain focus solely on his fingertips against my skin. It works for a bit.

I need to move. I get up and grab my shower stuff, closing the door behind me. I hope
Rowan isn't upset by my sudden departure.

I brush my teeth, I shower, I wash my face. I come back to the room. He's on his
computer. I'm glad, It makes me uncomfortable when people try and take care of me
when I'm upset. Well, probably because he's the only one who ever has. I put on clothes.
And then sit on the edge of my bed, legs bouncing up in down with anxiety. I stare at my
wrist.

Define Nothing.

It was a week after finding out about my aunt. I was mad, and sad, and frustrated and I
needed to do something. One of my friends was learning how to give tattoos; I borrowed
his needle from him. It hurt like hell, I didn't know what I was doing, but it helped. I felt
better.

Define Nothing.

I didn't have to think hard about what I was going to write. It was exactly what I felt. All
my life everyone I was surrounded by has, at some point or another been defined as,
depressed, or bipolar, or, something else equaling to, "not normal." But that's my issue.
People aren't born like that, yes they may have a chemical imbalance. I KNOW that. But
they're not at every second and every point of their life, depressed. They are only
depressed when they are physically sad. Maybe it happens more often that those around
them, or maybe they're just led to believe that. If everyone just stopped trying to fit into
societies restriction, we would be a lot happier, or just content for that matter. I hate the
counselor that defined my brother as depressed. It has plagued him ever since. He was
told that he wasn't as happy as everyone else around him. In actuality, maybe he just
feels emotions stronger, so that when he is sad, I feels deeply sad. Maybe someone
should tell him that's okay, not just prescribe him medicine to "fix" it, to make him
numb.

Sometimes I wonder how he would handle things, what his life would be like, if that
counselor have told him he was fine, he was just like everyone else, that it was okay to
feel sad sometimes, everyone did. Maybe things wouldn't always keep getting worse with
him. Maybe every time he broke down, he wouldn't scream that he's "FUCKING
DEPRESSED" and "HE HATES HIS LIFE"É."HAS NEVER EVER BEEN HAPPY."
Which is a lie. Yes, he does get sad, he gets sad and upset, more often than some people.
But he's also been happy a lot; he's liked his life more than a few times.

But still, in his head he could never be happy, because he has been defined as depressed.

And know their going to poison my sister with the same idea. And that kills me.

I've lived with the idea of my older brother and his depression since I was in eighth
grade. I would never say I've gotten used to it, but it's become a fact of my life. But
Brinley, she's my little sister and we've always been so close, I was supposed to protect
her. That is my job, Cameron does what he can, but he's usually too preoccupied with his
own issues. So the job was always left to me, and I did it well until I went to college, and
ultimately left her.

My house has always been a house of sadness, not in the fact that we're all emo and can't
bring ourselves to think happy thoughts, but there always seems to be some sort of
tragedy lurking around every corner. Brinley and I, we used to try and put the pieces back
together afterwards, we were always team. And I left. Not on purpose, but I did like the
idea of living two hours away at university. So this is my fault. Brinley was the only one
left at home to pick up all the pieces, every time my brother hit bottom, and my mom
started crying. It would be too much for anyone to try and manage. Also, Brinley just
soaks up everyone's problems, holding them in like a sponge. She has no one to talk to
besides me, I at least have Rowan. But she won't tell anyone about her issues, except me,
and I've been busy.

That's no fucking excuse. I fucking hate myself right now.

There is a rage welling up inside me, like nothing I have EVER felt before. I stand up
shaking, this time not from grief. I start pacing the floor, but I am barely aware of my
movements for the second time in 48 hours.

Too fucking busy, too fucking busy?! Ask myself. Too busy for my own fucking sister. I
am the most selfish person in the world.

Before realizing what I'm doing I walk to one side of the room. My mind goes black and
my fists makes contact with the wall. Hard.

I hear a snap.

Searing pain shoots up my arm.

I feel much better.


( I do not want to insult anyone with this chapter, these are merely Noah, as a character's
thoughts, they are fictional)

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW!!!! THANKS SO MUCH FOR READING!!