"You're Never Alone"

         Depression isn’t just a cry for help. Nor is it depicted as the feeling “suicidal”. Depression lies somewhere in between. It’s being alive but dying. It’s being dead but still breathing. It’s like being a ghost with a beating heart-

         The thin lead of the mechanic pencil snapped, tiny flecks of gray now dotting the last word of my sentence. I gave a small, inaudible sigh and dusted away the lead, only smearing it across my paper in the process. Considering I didn’t have an eraser, I just ignored it. I pushed on the end of the pencil, clicking over and over in hopes I’d be lucky enough to score just enough lead to finish the last sentence.

         Nothing.

         I lifted the pencil to my ear and shook it a few times – no clinking sound of lead to be heard. I set the pencil on my desk and watched as it rolled back to me. I managed to catch it before it fell and set it vertically on my desk instead.

         Taking a quick, inconspicuous glance around the room, I saw that everyone was still quietly working on their essays. The teacher, a burly old man with thinning, grayish black hair and thick beard, was enjoying the quiet in the room and working intently on his computer.

         I looked down at my pathetic excuse for a pencil and let my shoulders drop in defeat. I wasn’t going to ask for a new pencil, I don’t want to break the silence. People would probably give me looks and the teacher would be upset I didn’t come better prepared. I give up…

         “Hey,” a quiet whisper to my right made me jolt in my seat, heart pounding and face flushed.

         I slowly turned my head to the side to see a boy holding out a regular, number two yellow pencil, freshly sharpened with a never been used pink eraser. I could only stare at the pencil in his pale white hand, too afraid to bring my gaze up to meet his eyes. I didn’t want to be caught staring, staring is rude, right? I don’t want to be remembered for staring.

         “You need a pencil, yeah?” he asked, Russian accent thick on his words and dicing up his English as he was stretching out his arm a bit further so the pencil, eraser pointed towards me, was only a few inches away.

         I blinked once and brought my gaze to his pale blue eyes. I felt a flush of heat course through my body and did a quick nod. I probably looked like an idiot.

         To my surprise, he smiled my way, tilting his head to the side and sending his sandy brown locks to fall the same way. “Here, then.”

         I tentatively grasped the end of the pencil like a shy child, saying a quiet, close to a whisper, “Thank you,” and pulling the pencil timidly from his hand as to not be scolded if I did something wrong.

         He nodded and went back to work on his essay, scribbling away on his paper.

         I turned back to my paper. I’m pretty sure my face was red by now. Who was that boy? He looks familiar… His name began with an “N”, right? Why would he help me?

         It must’ve been for a bet or a dare or something… I thought as I continued with my writing. Or maybe he just pitied me.

         That hit me hard. I was never one to accept pity, I abhorred it. But, that boy… he just switched into this class last week, right? I wonder why… Did he not like the people in his other class? I let a small sigh slip out.

         Why do I care? It doesn’t matter anymore anyway.

         The loud buzz of the bell startled me, signaling it was the end of class… the end of the day… the end. Huh.

         “Remember, your essays are due next Friday. I expect you all to have the four pages required.” The teacher said in a dry monotone.

         Everyone muttered a “Yeah, yeah,” or an “Okay, Mr. Burns.”

         “Have a good weekend.” With a flick of his hand, everyone started packing up.

         Chatter and the sound of packing up filled my ears as I silently got out of my seat. For once in what felt like forever, I actually felt a pang of happiness, but I didn’t let it show. I pulled my backpack into my seat and unzipped it. I managed to shove my binder into it and zipped it up, throwing it over my shoulder and sticking both arms through the straps. I signed my name at the top of my one page essay and put a dash next to it reading, “Goodbye – Ashton Recklove.”

         I didn’t need to rush through the halls today; I wasn’t taking the bus anymore.



         I walked for ten minutes in the bitter cold, the icy winds whipping my hair about my face in a brown blur and chilling me to the bone. I couldn’t feel my nose, cheeks, or even my fingers anymore. My skin felt like it was covered in a sheet of ice and my breathing was labored in the thick air.

         Walking just a few steps more down the forest path, blanketed in a sheet of sparkling white snow, I stopped at the foot of the old arched bridge, resting high above the freezing water below.

         I took another step on this snowy path.

         Fat.

         I didn’t mind the word much at first. But the way they all said it, how they all said it… I stopped eating breakfast… then lunch… and soon I skipped dinner. I never felt the need or desire to eat anymore, no matter how loud my stomach growled or how bad it hurt.

         I took another step.

         Ugly.

         I tried to learn how to do my hair and makeup, wasting countless dollars on useless beauty products. I wanted to change the way I looked, but no matter how much makeup I wore I still saw my face in the mirror every morning.

         Another step.

Waste of space.

         I did more than I should’ve, pushed myself to heights I couldn’t reach, struggled to be better, wanted to be useful not useless. I was determined, keeping my grades up and helping anyone I could that would accept it.

         One more step.

Wannabe. Try-hard.

         I could never wrap my mind around it. Was I doing too good or too bad? How could I be a wannabe if I was trying hard not to? But if I was trying hard, that’d still make me a wannabe and a try-hard. No matter, I simply gave up trying all together.

         I reached the middle of the bridge and turn to my right, straight to the steel railing.

         All of my hard work amounted to nothing. I was still teased, picked on, bullied and tormented. I could never escape it; I couldn’t find a way out. How do you fight an enemy you can’t touch? Through all the tears and pain, I found something my sanity caused… depression.

         It was an odd sort of feeling. It was like losing myself all at once, voice escaping me, mind running blank, seeing nothing but what the world truly was, and ultimately going numb. I couldn’t smile, I hadn’t in a while before, I couldn’t laugh, I don’t even remember what that sounds like, I couldn’t cry, I couldn’t find my tears, I couldn’t fight, even my anger fled me. It felt too odd to even be considered alive. Sometimes I wondered if I really was, and it’s not like anyone would notice me gone.

         But depression had welcomed new emotions to me in the worst of ways; anxiety, timidity, self consciousness. All unwanted emotions pent up inside of me like a shaken bottle of pop.

         Depression was a hook, impossible to get out even if you cut the line. At times it seemed depression let go of its hold on me, but the second I started to see the good side of things it came back and hit me like a sack of bricks.

         I gently curled my hands around the frozen railing, the ice and snow stinging my palms and fingers. Looking over the railing and into the calm waters, I wondered if it’d be enough. Would this water simply break my fall or break me? It looked far down enough, and I knew the water was deep enough.

         It will be simple. I jump. I fall. I drown. Yes, simple indeed.

         I ducked under the railing and stood on the thin lining just big enough to hold me up by my heels. With my back pressed to the steel, hands clasped on the railing on either side of me, I looked out to the world before me one last time.

         Black trees lined in white, thick gray clouds covering the sky like a wool blanket, strong winds whipping the large snowflakes around in such a delicate manner it made the scene before me look much more like I was in a snow globe. Dull gray water rushed around in the freezing lake beneath my feet, splashing against the hillsides to my right and left in a lovely synchronized dance that was calling out to me to join.

         “Such a beautiful sight…” I whispered, closing my eyes to relish the moment.

         It was the perfect scenery for my final act.

         I opened my eyes and took a deep breath, hunching my shoulders and bringing my hands closer to my body along the rail so my elbows were bent. Letting out the heavy breath I’d held in, I watched the fog curl over my lips and spiral into the air.

         “Ah, simply mystifying,” I whispered softly towards the small smoke show I had made.

         I shifted my heels so I was standing with my ankles locked together. I stared down into the gray oblivion below, heart racing and spine tingling – whether it was excitement or fear steering me into overdrive.

         I released the railing and let gravity pushed me forward. It felt as if I flying, wind surging past body in an attempt to cushion my fall. I let my body go slack, limbs spreading out in all different directions. The water was so close. I could feel the temperature dropping already.

         “Idiot!” A gruff voice snapped at me, echoing into my ears as I fell.

         My eyes widened at the sound of boots kicking off the rail above me, something slicing into the wind in a growing hiss.

         It seemed like slow motion.

         A hand groped at the back of my jacket, grasping firmly and pulling forward. A cold hand snaked around my waist and gripped the fabric at my hip. I was twisted through the air so I faced the bridge rather than the water. Another arm covered my head in a protective manner and my back was pressed against something rather hard. I couldn’t see who it was but a blur of sandy brown hair caught my eye.

         I don’t know how or why, but at that very moment in time I remembered his name. “N-Nikolai…” I whispered, hoping my voice would die away with the wind.

         “What were you thinking?!” Nikolai shouted back.

         I stared up at the bridge with a blank expression. “I… I wanted to…,” I trailed off.

         “Why?” He asked; his voice was stern and demanding.

         I squeezed my eyes shut tight and balled my fists, trying to muster enough courage to speak more than four words. “Because I don’t have anybody!” I snapped. We only had a few more seconds… “Because no one cares! Because I’ve been bullied all my life! Because no matter how hard I tried I was never good enough for anyone or anything!”

         “You have me now.” He said; voice so soft I hardly heard it. His grip tightened around me. “I care about you. I’ll protect you... I’m not letting you do this alone.”

         It was the first time in my life I didn’t feel like dying. His words sent sparks throughout my body, making my long since dead heart beat faster.

         I did the only thing I could do. I hooked my arms around his and held on tight.

         The impact of the water hit Nikolai for the most part, but I felt the shock of the icy depths smash against my skin when we went under. It was a horrible feeling, I had to admit. The water froze against the heat of my body, yet it still stayed liquid. But I wasn’t concerned with the water or ice or even my death, I only wanted to be in Nikolai’s arms. Hiding under all the fabric of his clothes and mine, hiding from the freezing water coating our bodies, I still felt the faint throb of his heart on my back, his dying warmth enough to ease me into my own death.

         It’s a funny thing to say, that someone I didn’t even know jumped off that bridge only to die with me. To know someone really did care enough to appear out of nowhere and catch me in their arms. It was like something out of a fairytale…

         With lungs burning in our chests, we let out our last breath, our air bubbling out around us and flying high. I watched the large bubbles break apart at the surface and disappear as if they’d never been here at all. Rushing ice cold water filled my lungs as I sucked in a desperate breath, which burned me from the inside out. Nikolai choked on the water, thrashing about in the murky depths in a last attempt at finding air. But he never let me go.

         Slowly, I felt the world around me disappear, light fading into black, my last bit of warmth reducing to nothing. I was completely numb.

         I guess I didn’t realize it then, but this boy was my savior.



         Death isn’t as simple as heaven or hell. You don’t wake up in the clouds with the golden gates of paradise opened up for you, nor do you wake to find yourself melting with the devil’s laugh nothing but a constant mocking echo behind you. Death is when your soul leaves it being to roam the world as it did when it lived.

         Everyone always says if you commit suicide you hand your soul to the devil or you’re stuck in a constant repeat of your action, feeling every second of the pain without really being alive, as a mourning, tormented ghost.

         Neither is true.

         I roam this world of war and violence as a ghost. I see everyone going about their daily lives, some taking their precious lives for granted while others put their life on the line. I can hear everything that goes on. I can feel the wind, the rain, the heat around me. I can feel every emotion I had in life in death. It’s not just an empty black oblivion…

         But no matter where I go, what I see, what I feel, I’m happy to be walking, hand in hand, with Nikolai. Yes, it’s as simple as that, two ghosts with beating hearts.

In loving memory of

Ashton Recklove

Who died on January 4, 2014

Aged 15 years

May her soul rest in peace

In loving memory of

Nikolai Macalsky 

Who died on January 4, 2014

Aged 15 years

May his soul rest in peace