(this has been inspired by alternate realities! under my scripts tab is the “original” conversation. the parallels are quite interesting i would say!)
I feel useless.
I miss when you used to believe you were the world’s ray of sunshine. This sorrow isn’t you.
They say it just takes time.
And I’m here throughout it all, but we are going to have to do something.
I did some research today. Maybe melatonin could help my inability to sleep.
You like to sleep with the lights on. It keeps your cobweb of thoughts from further tangling, remember?
So I’ll start sleeping with them off.
That’s silly. We are not going to do that, and also, we both know that you don’t believe in medication.
I think I’m going to go outside today, get some sunlight for once.
But it’s raining. Look outside. Can’t you hear it? Darling, you’re so distracted, where is my Haley?
Then I’ll stay inside and find something productive to do, like sweep, I haven’t for weeks. This place looks like a mess.
The messiness of the house is the least of our worries, and you know that. Please don’t clean.
But you used to love it.
Your cleaning?! Yes, of course! Where did you get this idea? It’s not whether I love or hate the idea of you cleaning. It’s whether or not you are actually taking care of yourself. Habits change, that doesn’t mean I love you any less.
Things die, you mean. Someone once said, if a writer falls in love with you, you can never die.
You haven’t written in a while. Maybe some writing would spark some insight?
I don’t know how, you know that.
That’s a joke, Haley, and we both know it. You’re a fascinating writer. You always told me you were deeply under the influence of language. You can always try something else if writing doesn’t fit the niche. There was a time when everything was self-therapy for you.
Can I paint it out for you?
I just used the last of the paint supplies today, there’s a bit of acrylics left, but not too much. What about a metaphor? That’s always been your best way of describing something.
You know when you’re merging onto a freeway of afternoon traffic? I always feel like I’m entering a war. A war with myself that never ends. That’s what depression feels like. An ongoing traffic jam.
That’s not fully true. It wasn’t always like that. You used to say evening traffic was a reminder that it was always holiday season. The cars heading your way were the red Christmas lights, and the cars heading the opposite direction were the white Christmas lights. You told me that in your imagination, they were moving lights. You loved it. You loved being part of the Christmas spirit.
I love you.
Haley, I love love you too. But love isn’t going to fix your depression. I miss you. Come back.