Living on Borrowed Time

Chapter Two

As I walked home from work in the early hours of the morning, activity burst loudly all around me. Having lived in such a small town my whole life, it never ceased to amaze me how busy the city always was—even at a time like this, when it really should all be peaceful. The noise was annoying, it infiltrated my brain, but in a weird way it also blocked everything else out. If I was concentrating on the constant humming, then I couldn’t think. When I started to think, it could quickly get dangerous. My brain would take me to the places that I actively tried to avoid, the ones that threatened to bring on the all-encompassing depression that I spent my time trying to fight against.

I climbed up the endless stairs of my apartment building, my legs feeling like I’d been working for forty hours, rather than nine. I still got tired and achy from time to time, but it was nothing compared to the way I’d been before. That was the one real positive of not dying—at least all the side effects from being sick had virtually gone. I wouldn’t have been able to cope if I still had the soul destroying chronic pain.

As I pushed the door open to my home, I let out a sigh—not so much one of relief. It was more an escape of air from a breath that I couldn’t quite seem to stop holding.

What a f*****g mess.

Not just the apartment—although it certainly wasn’t as tidy as I’d like it—more my life. Even the thought of having to ring Amy tomorrow was overwhelming. I was on the edge of my capability as it was, and adding that one small task felt like too much.

It was ridiculous. I must have been the least able-to-function adult possible.

I lay down in my bed, just staring at the small crack in the ceiling, wondering if there was any chance that it could be getting bigger. If it was getting larger, did that mean the whole ceiling might come crashing down at any moment? If so, would that kill me, or would I just end up hurt?

I couldn’t recall the last time I properly slept. Most of the time I just lay there, staring at that same crack, worrying about it, thinking about it, concentrating on it so hard that I didn’t have to think about anything else. Every so often, a little memory would shake through—the trip to Spain, the final party, skinny dipping in the freezing cold ocean...just because—and I had to turn over onto my side, just to force them away. Reminiscing, remembering the past, it always brought a horrible black hole of sadness with it.

I didn’t want to think about the old me, I didn’t deserve to. When I was going to die, I was more alive than I’d been, and that cut me deep. Now that my whole future stretched out in front of me, I had no idea what to do with it, so I didn’t do anything. I was cold, numb, alone, and I didn’t even care enough to change.

What people couldn’t understand was that I knew how to die. I understood that. It was living I still couldn’t wrap my head around.

For a second, I wondered what would’ve happened if I’d had a normal life that wasn’t plagued by illness. Would I be at university, would I be an artist, would I be a banker? I just had no idea. By the time it had come to making that sort of decision, my future was already in jeopardy, and what I was left with now was a whole lot of nothingness.

I squeezed my eyes tightly shut, calling out for the sweet release of sleep—at least in my dreams I could be someone, something. I didn’t have to continually be this empty, pathetic shell of a person. But of course, my mind was whirring too rapidly to even consider switching off. Sleep had never come easy for me, and it got worse the more exhausted I became.

Everything about this existence was exhausting.

***

As the light started to shine through my curtains, and my eyes flickered open, I quickly realised that I must have fallen asleep at some point—probably on and off throughout the dark hours. My head pounded, my body ached, and nausea swam around in my stomach, making me want to throw up.

This was how I woke up every single day.

Since my positive diagnosis, I hadn’t woken up in a happy, carefree mood, even once. I always started the day feeling like utter crap. And the belly full of fear—that was always there too. That didn’t leave me either, it stuck with me throughout the entire day, clinging to me like a bad smell. I didn’t even know what exactly it was making me anxious, so to make it even worse there was no reassurance, nothing I could do to cure it. I just had to accept it I suppose, as a part of who I had become.

I padded across the floor, straight from my bedroom and into the kitchen. I switched the kettle on and poured myself some cereal, as if on autopilot. The same routine I had every single day. Then, as always, I crunched the cornflakes, feeling the spike as they slid down my throat. I didn’t even taste what I was eating, I never did. I just ate it out of habit, to keep myself going. Even when hunger growled fiercely behind my ribs I never craved anything, I never felt an incessant need for anything in particular.

I just ate to stay alive, to keep this empty little life going.

My phone bleeped shrilly, alerting me to a notification from f*******:, but I resolutely ignored it. I’ve had my social media account from before and even though I never paid it any attention, I still had it activated. Just in case.

Being totally honest, I did check it now and again when I was feeling particularly weak, and I wanted a glimpse of back home, but it always just ended up making me feel gut-wrenchingly awful to see all my family and my old friends moving on without me. It wasn’t exactly like I expected them to freeze-frame their lives because I made the unexpected choice to leave my home town, but it still hurt to see how unnecessary I was.

If I’d been dead, things like that couldn’t affect me. Things would be exactly the same for them, but it wouldn’t scar me internally, I wouldn’t have to witness it. They could move on, without my shadow looming in the background.

It bleeped again, the noise feeling louder than it really was in my fragile mind, so I picked up the phone to turn off the Wi-Fi. Being reminded of my pointless existence was not what I needed at that moment. But that was when I noticed, it wasn’t an update from someone from my past, but a friend request from someone from this life.

Amy Acton.

Curiosity got the better of me, and without really thinking about it, I accepted, taking a few moments to read her status updates and see her most recent photos. I couldn’t help but wonder how someone managed to look so damn glamorous all the time, even when she’d clearly had a few to drink. I may not have had much time for the girl, but looking at her life online, it was clear to see that she really knew how to have a good time. In every photo, every update, she was happy, enjoying herself, living life to the full.

As if she had no idea what true misery looked like.

Tears unwittingly filled my eyes, and started to fall, wetting my cheeks as they dropped. I wrapped my arms tightly around my body, as if I was trying to hold myself together, as the emotion overcame me. I felt pathetic, useless, terrified, and sad all at once—a horrific combination. With the jealousy added in, for the first time in a very long time I felt something new. The desire to change.

I couldn’t carry on being this person forever; it would end up destroying me completely.

I wasn’t sure how long I cried for, but by the time the tears dried up, something inside of me had shifted. I suddenly felt angry, really, really mad. Throughout everything I’d been through, anger had never really even been a consideration of mine. Not even right in the beginning, when I first got all of the bad news. I just sort of...took it in my stride.

Now, it was all of me.

I was raging because I didn’t know what to do, I was angry because I didn’t want to be like this anymore, I was mad because none of it was fair. This misery wasn’t something that I’d chosen; it was just external circumstances that had happened to me, out of my control. And that wasn’t fair.

I pummelled my fists down onto the kitchen counter, just feeling everything for the very first time. Negative thoughts swirled violently through my mind: it isn’t fair, it’s not my fault, why me?

But then it hit me, like a smack in the face, shocking me into submission. Sure, everything that had happened hadn’t been fair, but I wasn’t totally blameless. I couldn’t control external factors, but I could have reacted better. I could have chosen to live a positive life—the only person who was at fault for that was me.

It isn’t fair couldn’t get me anywhere. The only person that had the power to change that was me.

I remembered everyone’s shocked, saddened faces when I said I was going. Much as I’d wound everyone up, they didn’t want me to leave to town completely, they couldn’t understand why I absolutely had to go. Of course they couldn’t get it. I had no idea how rare it was to go through what I’d been through, so I don’t know if there was actually anyone that would understand my experience.

And even if there was someone out there who had gone through exactly the same as me, they probably would have grasped onto life with both hands, having almost lost it.

No one would have turned their back on happiness, like I’d done.

My mum’s face flickered through my mind—an image I hadn’t thought about in a while. We still had weekly phone calls, which mainly consisted of me convincing her that I was all fine, that life was wonderful, that sort of nonsense, but I tried not to remember her too much in between that. I kept her firmly in the back of my mind, with all the things I couldn’t deal with.

Logically, I complete understood why she’d been forced to ask me to leave, but that didn’t mean it didn’t upset me.

Despite all of that, she was the only one that still tried to communicate with me. Everyone else gave up after a while when I didn’t answer their calls, texts, emails, instant messages, and never returned them either. She was the only one to stick around, and I’d done nothing but resent her for it.

I loved her, but I spent a lot of time pushing her away too.

On instinct, I grabbed my phone and dialled her number, just wanting to hear her voice. The phone rang and rang, but clearly she wasn’t home because she didn’t answer. For some reason, that hurt me more than anything else, even though I totally understood. I’d been out of the loop for such a long time, and I couldn’t just expect people to telepathically know that I suddenly needed them. It was never like I normally went out of my way to phone home, so why would my mum know that I was doing so now.

I knew all of that, but my feelings would never be rational.

‘Are you still coming tonight? <3 xxx ’ A surprise message pinged up in my f*******: inbox from Amy.

The noise that normally did nothing more than irritate me, now filled me with a little warmth. She seemed to genuinely want to hang out with me, no matter how grouchy I always was with her. She seemed unsure of me yesterday, but to go out of her way to check that I was still going out, it made me feel special. Sure, this girl may have been three years younger than me, but that didn’t mean that I couldn’t try to enjoy myself with her—just for once.

Even if it was completely out of character for me.

Maybe that was a good thing—being me certainly hadn’t worked for me so far.

‘Yes. Looking forward to it x.’ I replied on instinct, before my sensibilities could kick in and I changed my mind. I couldn’t back out now, not after agreeing twice. That would just be weird. I’d just forced myself into it, and I actually didn’t feel quite as bad about that as I assumed I would.

‘Ok, great!! Meet you by the chippy at 8? Xoxoxo’ came the very quick reply, making me think that she was waiting for it.

‘C u then!’

I stared at the messages for a few moments, before a horrifying though hit me. After seeing all the wonderful pictures of Amy looking fabulous on her typical night’s out, I was going to have to wear something decent tonight, just to fit in. I couldn’t wear my usual skinny-jeans-and-hoodie combo to a club—especially not if she was going to be in a bodycon dress, stilettos and amazing looking makeup.

Oh God, I couldn’t even remember the last time I wore makeup!

No, I was going to have to make much more of an effort to fit in with Amy and her crew. I certainly didn’t want to stand out for being scruffy. I needed to at least attempt blending in.

I stomped over to my minimalistic wardrobe and pulled everything out in disgust. Didn’t I have a red dress at some point? What the hell happened to that? I mustn’t have brought it with me when I moved to the city. I wasn’t exactly thinking straight when I left, so that made sense. It was probably hanging around in my mum’s house somewhere, gathering dust.

A pit of dread started in my stomach, and burst through my veins like an icy spell. I didn’t usually go outside on my days off from work; I tried to negotiate it so I don’t have to, but it looked like today would have to be different. I definitely wasn’t planning on going clothes shopping, and I didn’t particularly want to either, but what other option did I have? I couldn’t wear any of the crappy outfits I owned. Not a chance!

A million-and-one excuses swarmed around in my brain, telling me desperately that I needed to get out of the night out. That way, I could curl up on the sofa, blankly staring at the TV screen, trying to stop my brain from thinking, like I usually did.

But if I did that, then things would never change. And I was really starting to believe that change was the only way forward for me.

I should at least give it a go.

I knew from past experiences that if I didn’t go out now, after I’d finally said yes, then Amy wouldn’t ask me again. We weren’t close enough for her to persist. And there certainly wasn’t anyone else about to invite me anywhere.

Basically, it was now or never.

I felt like I was at a crossroads—did I carry on down the bleak path I’d been going, or did I try and make things a little better for myself? Sure, the way things were was comfortable and familiar, but it certainly wasn’t great. After the swirl and range of emotions that had been around me today, I wasn’t sure that even if I did chose to keep things as they were, that I would still feel the numbness that allowed me to carry on.

That may have gone forever.