Book Description
There’s… a word out there they use to describe something like this.
I can’t quite remember what it is, but it’s somewhere along the lines of either “boring” or “pointless”. But let’s say that I don’t want that to exactly be the case. Here we are now. Here we are, with you, dear reader, reading the personal thoughts of someone you’ll be glad you never met in real life.
But today, everything is about scent.
The scent of Dad’s music store. The scent of the crisp air in the morning while I wait for the bus, as I watch the sunrise. The scent of pride with a certain air to it, since I just finished my latest chapter last night. The scent of mixed vanilla with strawberries overwhelming everything else. And most of all, the scent of confusion.
The scent–no, sense–that something awful is about to happen. You could call it a premonition. I call it a fact.
I don’t know if the Lexapro is even really treating the GAD. I’ve had it for about five months now, so it’s at its maximum effectiveness and all. But there’s something Dad told me a pretty long time ago, probably when I started to take it. Antidepressants like that don’t actually treat or help anything; you’re just hiding behind your actual feelings. I believe that’s true, not only because of the ways I’ve been acting but also how I used to act.
I don’t talk anymore. The only times people talk to me, really, is to ask me if I’m okay. I’m constantly staring at the floor. I can’t stop anything. Lexapro seems more dangerous than it seems helpful to me now. But that just might be the GAD acting up, I don’t know. Excessive worrying is in the symptoms, after all.
But remember. Remember what Sharp said. “It’s not that you’re getting worse, per say… it’s just that you’re missing something from your life and you don’t quite know what it is.”
Well, I know what mine is. That’s so easy that I could answer it asleep. But really, Sharp–there are so many things missing that I wonder what the main reason would be?
I think I already know.
It’s Avery.
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