20. Feeling like shit

"Ella honey, it's been almost two months."

Jacqueline was getting frustrated with me, while Gemma was being ignorant. She was letting me be, as long as I was not suicidal. She kept on saying to Jacqueline and Benji that people deal with their issues in their own way.

That's how sweet Benji was hands-off and decided to keep on cooking, turns out that my stress was giving him more stress that he decided to keep on cooking and send out the excess food to the homeless shelter.

My hands were moving on their own, continuing to slap strokes of grey on the large canvas.

Two months into my depression, I was actually making money from my paintings and I have decided to move to the apartment next door to Gemma which recently became available.

It's a smaller one-bedroom apartment with a great living room space for my studio. I love Gemma, I love living with her, but I didn't want to disrupt her vibe because I've been different since Brice and I don't think I can change back to the old me.

I think I'm broken.
But I'm okay with that.
It's my fault.

I like having my own place, I like the quiet though every couple of hours they would invade my space to check up on me. But the rest of the time I was painting and drinking myself to sleep.

Yes, I've been drinking.

Since last month I realized that I sleep better after drinking some wine. When evening comes I feel more relaxed, it's my favorite time of the day where everyone had gone back to their place and I was left alone to paint in my living room.

Jacqueline has been telling me to buy a sofa and a coffee table and live normally. But Gemma didn't even bother, she knows that I don't even own a TV and don't need one. I've been sleeping in my bedroom and working in my living room to paint. It's a continuous, repeating activity that works for me.

*****

It was on a quiet Sunday evening when Brenton came with Trisha to pick up my paintings. Lately, my art has been a gloomy kind of grey. I've stopped painting Brice. But I was still obsessed with his bedroom color, and I was slapping all kinds of black, and white and every color in between texturing them emotionally and Trisha said my crappy paintings were selling fast.

"These are amazing, Ella!" Trisha said enthusiastically, looking around my living room. I've had five paintings done since I was busy with my days. Working on my paintings made me forget about Brice.

"It is, but I think you should take a break, you're so pale. Maybe you should go back to your parents?"

I looked at Brenton and shook my head stubbornly while biting on my dirty nails. He knows that I've been making more money than I needed, and I feel better.

Do I? really?

I hate how people look at me, I hate how they all feel sorry for me when in reality I was excelling in my work.

"You're not okay Ella, you're freakishly thin, even your tats looked dull on your very pale skin. How long since you go out?"

I ignored him and started on another easel and brush a stroke of black, then brushed the white paint softly and kept on working and ignoring them.

"Brenton, we should let her be, I'll have my guys take her new work in the morning. I've seen artists in their worst, I've seen you. People do things differently and if this is how she needs to process it then we should be supportive."

"But it has been months,"

"I know, and she's here, she's working, eating, and have people around her who care. It's a process."

"She's not talking!" Brenton let out his frustration and I stopped my movement, but back to slapping more texture of a darker shade of white and tried to tune out his words.

"Monks don't talk for months... it's part of their meditation, their ascension to higher learning. This is what she needs Brenton. Maybe she's not talking to us, but her mind is not dead. She's not dead, we should be thankful and you need to stop thinking about the worst."

Gemma had told them about what happened between me and my honey bun bun. Brenton went ape and seconds away from killing the man, but Trisha told him not to. And that day I hugged her and fell apart in her arms, crying and sobbing but still...I didn't talk, I can't.

You're a freaking liar, Ella.
You should never talk.
You're going to lie to everyone.

I can't believe I loved you.
I can't believe I loved you.
I can't believe I loved you.

This is what they do, Brenton would visit, he would bring his best friend Trisha who's also the gallery owner where our arts were being displayed. He tried to talk me out but Trisha said he should let me be. She lets me cry on her shoulder and lets me keep on painting. Maybe because I'm making her money, but I was just glad to be left alone and do whatever I want to do.

Catatonic Depression, Benjamin, my sweetest neighbor had made a psychiatrist come and evaluate my condition last week. My parents finally came, my brothers were present, they heard and tried to stay calm when Dr. Sheridan explained her diagnosis.

My dad wouldn't let me get drugged up with Benzodiazepine, he believed that I'm stronger than that and my art was helping me get better. My mom believes that it's a very mild case and she refused to move me to a psychiatric ward. I love my parents and hugged them and suffocate myself with their affection. My brothers sighed and smothered me with their love.

Seeing my family interaction, Dr. Sheridan said she will check in on me and help me any way she can.

Evening came as the skyline was getting darker and Benji came, he hugged me then set me with a plate and put the rest of his casserole dinner in the fridge saying he was late already but loves me abundantly.

I nodded and sit in the little kitchen area and eat my dinner which tastes like cardboard to me, every time, no matter what he cooks. I felt sorry for Benji, I even start eating after he left cause I don't want to hurt his feelings. I tried not to vomit and eat slowly, but a couple of spoons later I gave up and drink more water to get rid of the vile taste in my mouth.

Nothing tastes better aside from the red wine I have stocked up in my wine cooler. The more expensive the better, thankfully I have the money to indulge in my strange wine addiction.

It was just after two when I finally drifted off to sleep. My mind was still replaying his last words. Brenton was right, I should forget about him already but I couldn't.

At least in my new apartment, I didn't have to look at my wall, the wall which I used to put up his drawings. Since that night I've never drawn him, ever again.

"Brice..." I mumbled in my sleep.

And like every other night I woke up from the nightmares, with tears in my eyes. The same scene over and over again. Him, leaving my old apartment.

I can't believe I loved you.
I can't believe I loved you.
I can't believe I loved you.

Pulling my knees to my body, I curled up to a little ball and sobbed. I still wonder how am I still able to cry, how is my tear duct still intact with my daily excessive crying.

I can't believe I loved you.
I can't believe I loved you.
I can't believe I loved you.