2. Everest

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Words couldn't even come close to describing how I felt right now. I didn't know what was more sad: the fact that I tried to kill myself or how I failed.

I failed. I was still here. Why was I still here?

My mom was convinced I was crazy. Out of the five days I'd been in the hospital, my dad had come to visit me a total of two times—not to mention he was on his phone the whole time—my little sister was afraid of me, and none of my friends had come to visit or even called.

I had a feeling this was what it would be like if everyone knew just how messed up I was.

"I don't see why you are so against the Sunshine Valley Rehabilitation Center!" my mom whispered furiously at my father. I could just imagine it now. My mom, tears brimming in her eyes for the hundredth time this week, looking up at my father— who would have rather been back on his phone and putting this whole situation out of his mind— and pleading for her son to get thrown in some mental hospital because she was afraid to be alone with him.

"He needs some serious mental help," she continued, her voice cracking at the end.

That was the thing—I didn't want help. I wanted to be dead.

This week all I kept hearing was how I needed help. In stale rooms and cold leather chairs, I tried to look anywhere but into the burning gaze of Dr. Marinzel, whose eyes seemed to go right through me. Typically, I settled on this terrible drawing of a bear on the wall, or a cow—I could never make out exactly what the creature was, so I'd spend my sessions trying to figure it out. Marinzel, or Marty, who insisted we both be on a first name basis, was consistently trying to get me to talk—but I couldn't. I hated myself more for putting myself in this situation. I was embarrassed that everyone knew what I tried to do. I never wanted to disappear more. So I pretended that I wasn't there. I didn't talk for a full week.

"How are you feeling today?"

Silence.

"You don't have to talk until you're ready."

Silence.

"Everest, I believe you have major depression. You may feel

a lot of negative emotions with this diagnosis, like shame? Or anger. That's normal. You don't need to come to terms with clinical depression right away. What's most important is that you know that you aren't alo—"

Silence.

I ignored Marty for so long that he stopped prodding me and instead we spent our hour with him staring at me while I stared at the drawing, most likely in hopes that the silence would get too loud for me. Sometimes it did, but I never knew what to say when those moments came. Sometimes I'd lose myself in the whispering classical music he'd play. It wasn't exactly my style, but some music is better than no music. Thankfully, my parents saw that I wasn't getting any better and decided I didn't have to attend any more sessions. During our last session Marty decided to join my observation.

"What an odd-looking monkey," he remarked, and I turned my head to the angle he was viewing it from, and sure enough, the muddled picture finally made sense.

"All this time I thought it was a bear." I leaned back against the hard cushion seemingly satisfied, and it was then that I realized this was the first time I had talked since the attempt. Marty realized, too, because, for a brief moment, his face flashed with surprise before he concealed it.

***

My father's sharp voice shook my thoughts. I squeezed my eyes shut harder as I heard my parents' footsteps approach. "No son of mine is crazy. He will not attend that crazy house. I can't have that kind of baggage under our name."

Oh, I almost forgot the argument between my parents about attempting to send me away to a building filled with Martys trying to pick apart the darkest parts of my mind. Good thing my dad's pride would never allow such a thing. The only reason I was in therapy was because it was kind of mandatory after trying to kill yourself. Who would've thought?

I felt a hand laid on my forehead gently.

"I failed as a mother." Wetness invaded my cheeks as my mom sobbed. Her tears rolled down my cheeks and down my neck. I lay there, not daring to open my eyes.

"Go get yourself cleaned up. The nurses are going to come in soon to check his vitals. Your makeup is dripping," my father's deep voice commented, void of any emotion. He didn't even cry at his brother's funeral. I wasn't surprised he wouldn't have any emotion at a time like this. Sometimes I wondered if he had to charge himself at night.

"Okay," she replied, her voice broken. Her hand left my forehead, and I soon heard my mother's designer heels click out of the hospital room.

I felt my father's presence tower over me, watching me. I took deep breaths and let the oxygen pass through my nose, to make the idea of me sleeping more realistic.

The beats of my heart filled my ears in an almost a mocking tone. My chest moved up and down with each breath. Lungs expanded and deflated, one of the most disappointing rhythms I'd ever heard.

I didn't even realize my father was still in here until I heard his phone ringing.

"Hey, baby, I can't wait to see you tonight." He spoke in a hushed whisper. I didn't know why though, it wasn't like I didn't already know he was screwing his assistant.

While my mom had been here—afraid out of her mind— beside me, my dad had been seizing the opportunity to further his affair. I thought this one's name was Tanya. She was twenty- four-years old and was into men with wives and money.

I was sure my mom suspected it, but she'd rather ignore the situation. It was so painfully obvious, and I didn't understand how she could. Late nights in the office, business trips that weren't actually business, and an assistant who dressed like she was trying to satisfy every man's wet dream. She tried to come onto me once, but gold-digging vultures with more boobs than brains weren't really my type. My father chuckled deeply into the phone, which was actually a weird sound because my father never laughed . . . and because he sounded like a bald, eighty-year-old man who only wore wife-beaters with denim cutoff shorts.

The door opened and my mother's heels clicked toward where I lay and my father stood.

"Okay, remember to bring those forms to the meeting tonight. I'll see you later." He cleared his throat and spoke professionally before ending the call.

"Another meeting?" My mom sounded back to her regular self.

"Yeah, Sonya and I have some more business to discuss."

"Hadley's recital is tonight. Can you please stay with Everest so I can go to her event?"

My father cleared his throat, something he did when he didn't approve. "No, you have to stay. I have some important business I need to handle tonight at the office."

"Hadley has been with Susan all this week. I've barely seen my daughter. I must go to her recital. I'm sure she'd want her mom there rather than her nanny. I've been in this hospital all week, and I need to get out. This is your second visit—all I'm asking for is for you to put your work aside and watch him for one night."

She talked about me like I was unstable and would probably murder the whole hospital if someone didn't have an eye on me. "He doesn't need someone to watch him. Go to the recital and

I'll go to work, and that's final."

Hours later and I was alone. But that was how I wanted to be anyway.

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