The Other Side

by Kim Holden

“The most important time to listen is when words are missing, that’s when hearts cry out the loudest.”

My sadness is mine and it shouldn’t bleed all over anyone else.

“I’m not sad.” Or maybe it isn’t a lie, depression is different than sadness. Sadness is melancholy. Depression is a black hole of despair. I always imagine it’s like drowning. There are short bursts of fresh air, like Alice, but the past, the hopelessness, the guilt, and self-loathing is a pair of lead shoes that always pull me back under.

Because every once in a while, life gives you a sliver of happiness…however brief.

“And depression isn’t about weakness, it’s about battling and wanting to deaden the pain, not the person.”

People aren’t perfect. It’s not about loving them when it’s easy and convenient; it’s about loving them even more when it’s hard.”

I leave it at that. Because maybe I don’t need a declaration. Maybe just existing today is enough. I’m here. I am.

“I miss you. Every day I miss you. I’ve blamed myself for two years for your death. But I think I finally realize you lived with depression, the same way I live with depression. It’s hard. It’s so hard when you don’t believe you’re good enough. Or smart enough. Or just…enough. I should’ve told you that you were. You were enough. I should’ve told you that I loved you more than just once. I should’ve told you how funny you were. And how much I looked up to you. And that I love music because you loved music. I should’ve told you a lot of things. I think sometimes we take people for granted…or we just assume that they know how we feel about them because if it’s so obvious to us, shouldn’t it be obvious to them too? I know now that people don’t know…they can’t know…unless we tell them. Because saying it, or hearing it, can literally be the difference between life and death. I’ll never go another day without letting people know how I feel, even though it’s hard. I’m starting with Alice. I know I won’t have the right words, or I’ll be embarrassed, but I won’t let that stop me. Because it matters. People need to hear it. Thank you for teaching me so many things. You were enough, even if you didn’t believe it.”

“Goodbye, Toby. I love you, too.” I let the message play out in static for a minute before it cuts off. She must’ve not hung up the phone after she left the message. I hit rewind and listen to it again. And again. Her voice sounds weary and deconstructed, like she’d succumbed. I know she recorded this moments before she pulled the trigger, but it also sounds like she means it. Like she really did love me. She never said it before, but I know now that it’s probably the last thing she said. “I love you, too, Mom,” I say to the silence as I push the off button on the answering machine.

“Release the guilt. Forgive yourself.