I find amazing that there are so many places I don't know of. I always thought this was a small city and that nothing happened here. I mean, my friends left already and I've always had in mind that I'll also leave once I'm finished with my degree. I never even considered staying in this place or something like that. I never thought of loving this place. This city was always a hellhole for me but today I've seen things, places and people I never imagined lived here.

A stranger is showing me all this. How ironic is that?

I chuckle to myself as I keep walking to this new place H is taking me to. I wonder what kind of place this is. I'm not the artsy type so I don't know if I'll be able to do something here, but I might enjoy it. You don't need to be an artist to acknowledge the talent of others. I'm actually quite intrigued by what I might find over there.

As I have a few minutes before I get to this artistic place H has sent me to—he called it Street of Art on the other page, the one with the directions—I decide to allow myself to think about what he told me on his letter. Every letter I've received today has been different. Friendly, hyper, cautious, concerned... I feel like I've got to see different sides of his personality through this letters and the people he's introduced me to. I had an idea of what he was like with the post-its, but that was like having only the frame of the puzzle. But with every thing I've done today I feel like I receive more and more pieces of this puzzle that H is. I know the last pieces, the ones that go right in the middle of the puzzle, will be handed to me the moment I meet H.

But I'm scared. Scared in a way I wasn't before.

I've always thought that people believe my lies, that when I smile at them and tell them I'm doing fine they buy it. I know people do, even my therapist believed I was doing better because I deceived him until I broke down. But H saw through my lies and I still can't understand how he did that. I lied through a small piece of paper with a few words scribbled on it. How is that even possible? What gave me away? How could he know the reality out of a few post-its?

What scares me now isn't that he knows my smiles are fake; no, that certainly isn't the problem. I'm scared of what he might find out the moment I meet him. Will he read me as easily as he did through the post-its? Is he going to see all my lies and pretences and think I'm a living charade? The closer I get to meet him the more I fear I'll disappoint him. Maybe I should turn around and go back home before I ruin things. I can't fool him, I can't sell him my excuses so what am I supposed to do then?

But I thought, I honestly did believe that he accepted what I told him when he didn't insist on the matter. I thought he was one of many others who just smiled happily for me and carried on. But I was wrong.

••• 

It was he first week of October when I broke down again. H and I had been exchanging post-its for more than four months, almost five. My journal was thick with post-its and other things I wrote. By that time, I wouldn't leave that journal anywhere out of my sight. It was precious to me, it had all those notes that helped me to make through the day. All the kinds words by a stranger whom I felt closer with than to any of my friends, even if I didn't know his name or had ever seen his face, I felt his presence closer than anyone else. But not even his words could reach me this time.

I couldn't sleep again, my mind wouldn't shut up at night and would only torment me with thoughts that made me hate myself even more. I felt like thousands and thousands of kilograms were thrown at me every second and I couldn't breathe. I couldn't eat, I couldn't move. I couldn't care. All I wanted was to disappear, to cease to exist because I was tired. I was so damn tired but I was so weak to even move and do something about it. I wanted the pain inside of me to stop but at the same time I wanted to still feel miserable because I believed it that was all I deserved. To be miserable.

I wanted the agony as much as I hated it.

I craved the pain as much as I dreaded it.

I welcomed the tears as much as I brushed them away with my all.

I was a mess and no one could reach me. Mum yelled at me to get up. Mum cried by my side, begging me to keep fighting. Mum bribed me to keep pushing but her words always sounded so far away. Everything sounded like a distant echo and I didn't even want to listen.

I stopped taking my pills, which made everything worse.

Nothing touched me; nothing motivated me. I didn't even know what triggered this breakdown, I just knew that I had hit rock bottom… again.

That's what sucks about endogenous depression, you know? It's not just once that you hit bottom and then you get better. It's not just one period of time when everything turns black and you lose all hope. Oh, hell no. It happens over and over again and you don't even fight it anymore because it's pointless and you know it. Sometimes the fall is harder than others because you are doing fine, you even believe yourself you're doing better but then you're back at the bottom and you don't even know how you got there.

"Get up, now," I heard a voice, sharp and aggressive that couldn't belong to my mother.

Next thing I knew, the covers that kept me hidden went flying back and I was exposed. I looked up and found two of my friends, both looked pissed and concerned.

"Mila, Moni, what are you doing here?" I asked wondering if I was dreaming. They had left to pursue a better life, they had no reason to be back.

"We came 'cos you gotta get out. Your mum is sick worried and so are we! You don't reply or pick up when we call. Of course we had to come!" Moni half shouted and I knew she was that altered because she was indeed worried, almost scared.

"We had to call your mum and she was crying, Maca. So scared," Mila supplied and guilt stabbed me. "Come on, get dressed and let’s take a stroll. We're gonna talk and get some fresh air 'cos staying here is not helping."

It didn't sound like I had an option and I feared that if I refused they would drag me out in my PJs, so I slowly took a shower and got dressed to drag myself out of the house with one of my friends at each side.

At first it was only them asking me about anything, talking about banal things as we kept walking. It was chilly and it would probably rain, but I didn't mind. We kept walking and talking without even thinking where we were heading. I didn't even notice the moment we made it to the park or when the conversation changed, I just noticed the moment I started bawling my eyes out. All strength left me and only my friends were holding me. I cried, cried and cried without saying a word.

I cried because it was unfair. I cried because I was tired. I cried because I was worn out. I cried because I was in constant pain and nothing could take that away.

I cried.

And I cried some more.

I cried until I woke up the next day in my bed without a trace of how that happened.

When I left my room again feeling exhausted not only my friends were waiting for me, also my mum and my pills. Before I said a word I took the pills.

I wasn't better, I wasn't even feeling better but I knew I had to carry on. What else could I do?

It took a few more days before I dragged myself out the house and my friends could actually leave. It took many sessions with my therapist and shrink to actually feel brave enough to pull out another fight. I was out of my home but I felt far from alive. And I was so wrapped by shadows that I didn't even notice all the post-its on the bench when I passed by that morning, I only noticed them when I had to stop for a bit on my way home. I was too exhausted and I didn't feel prepared to face Mum. So only when I sat down I noticed it was that bench with many post-its. Only then I remembered my stranger. With guilt eating my alive, I picked them all.

What is a coin without one of its sides? What is life without the bad parts? Remember we need the good and the bad to have a whole. Have a good day and smile (:

That was the note I first missed, the note that on the day I broke down I needed the most but was unable to see. Tears welled up at my bad luck, once again.

Maca, are you all right? I hope you're just busy.

Maca, what's going on? A break?

I'm getting worried, I have a bad feeing. What's happening?

Maca, are you ignoring me? I know no one else is picking the post-its.

I just hope you're all right and I'm just overreacting.

Please, be well.

There were others but they all went on the same lines. Some were only drawings of worried and anxious expressions. I felt terrible for forgetting about him and for making him worry this much. I wanted to apologise but at the same time I wanted to ease his worries.

Sorry! I caught a cold but I'm all right now :D Thank you for your words and concern. Even if I couldn't see them on that day, they were exactly what I needed —Maca

 I left that on the bench feeling bad with myself for lying but at the same knowing it was all what I could do. It was what I had to do. I couldn't tell him I had hit bottom once again and I was struggling to get out of the hole again. I could never get completely out but sometimes I could almost see the surface.

Almost.

The next day the note I found read:

If you say you're fine, I shall believe you. Drink loads of fluids and keep that smile on. It's better to see your smiling reflection the mirror, it'll give you courage (:

••• 

It was just a few days later after that when I received the note asking to meet. At that time I thought he really believed what I told him, now I question if he even believed that I had caught a cold. Maybe he knew right then that all that was a lie and I was just being devoured by my own demons.

I wonder if it was exactly because he knew it was a lie that he asked to meet me. Maybe he knew I needed this. Today I've felt better than I've felt in a long, long time. Today I've smiled honestly and that is a huge improvement.

I stop on my tracks and look at my right, at the shop next to me and the shiny glass that shows my reflection, and on it I can see a smiling Macarena. I see an honest smile and that note that H left me makes more sense now. Seeing my smiling reflection gives me courage to carry on instead of hiding because I'm afraid.

I resume my walking, head held high because I'll meet him and I'll even apologise for the lies, if necessary. I won't run away today.

And in a few minutes later I'm rewarded for my leap of courage because I'm right where H wanted me to be, there's no mistake about it.

My smile widens as I take a step closer, ready for a new experience.

-:-:-

I'm sorry, that's all I can say :(

Bel, xx