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Does another voice sing in heaven’s choir tonight?
To fill the silence left behind?
It was too much. Too much.
His friends hated him, his girlfriend pitied him, his parents didn’t know what to do with him. He was in love with a boy who hated him, with a boy who could never love him back. The whole fucking world thought he deserved to die and now he was thinking it, too.
Even’s hands ran shakily through his hair. It was disgusting, greasy, he needed to shower. So he did.
The water was too hot, or it was too cold, it was too steamy, everything was too fucking much.
He curled up on his bed, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes but not falling, never falling. The tears stung, his throat was clogged, he couldn’t breathe, he needed air but no matter how hard he tried he was breathing in air, he was filling up to the brim with nothing and everything all at once. It was too much. There was so much going on in his head, what his grandmother’s bible said, what his friend’s Qu’ran said, what his classmates think even without religion. There was just too much.
It was almost noon when he went back down to the living room. He was still finding it hard to breathe. He saw the cross hanging on the wall, placed there out of respect for his grandparents, not because his family really wanted it there. He grabbed it, feeling the smooth wood beneath his fingers, the small bronze statue of Jesus cold. He looked at figure of Christ, so small, so broken looking. Why did his grandparents think he was the saviour? Would they still love their God if he told them to hate their own grandchild?
Yes, a voice in the back of his head mumbled. Because they would hate you if they knew .
Even clenched his fist around the cross, the sharp edges almost cutting into his skin. He threw it across the room, hearing it break apart as it hit the wall. A dry sob was ripped from his chest, followed by another, but no tears came. He felt it would be better if he cried, but he couldn’t.
He was back in his room, pacing and knocking over his things, breathing in gasps and trying so desperately to make everything stop. The whole room was too small, too full, too much. He felt like it was closing in on him.
He laid on his bed again, staring up at the ceiling. Everything was spinning, and he needed it to stop. He needed it to stop so badly. All the yelling in his head, all the horrible things he had posted online, all the horrible things he had read in those so called religious texts. He hated himself, hated his stupid fucking brain, hated how much pain he was putting everyone through.
His eyes came to rest on his pills. Those stupid fucking pills that were supposed to stop his stupid fucking brain from doing this, exactly this. Overwhelming him, making him think like he needed everything to stop. He took some in the morning from each bottle, and they were supposed to help. Supposed to make this stop. But they didn’t.
He reached out and picked them up, the lithium and the geodon and the fucking prozac. He didn’t want to be put on prozac, he knew that people get addicted to prozac.
He only had to take a few in the morning. Would they help now, if he took all of them? He didn’t care if they helped. He knew that if he took all of them, he would most likely die. And that sounded pretty good about now.
Suddenly, everything went very quiet. The noise, the rush, the chaos in his head was silent. It felt like his head was floating above his body, light after days of heaviness. Yes. That sounded good. To make it all stop, he would take all his pills and let himself quietly slip into the nothingness. He would be gone, and no one would hurt anymore.
Your parents would hurt, that little voice said. Your siblings.
He didn’t care. At least they could stop paying for his stupid fucking pills if he was gone.
Downstairs again, he needed to stop doing that, losing time. He still had his pill bottles in his hand, the small ovals rattling against the plastic. He opened the fridge for something to drink them down with, his mind so fucking empty of anything else. It almost felt nice to be that set on doing something, but then the weight would come back again.
There was nothing but his mother’s disgusting almond milk in the fridge, and Even decided that he was going to die, the last thing he tasted wouldn’t be fucking almond milk. The liquor cabinet was open to his right, and the vodka was right in the front. He grabbed it, the bottle smooth and cool to the touch. He set it on the small dining table in the kitchen and opened all the pull bottles, emptying them out into his hand. He had, in total, about fifteen. He brought his hand up to his mouth and put about half in, opened the bottle of vodka, and knocked them back in three swallows. The other half went down in the same amount of time, and Even left the pill bottles where they were, bring the vodka into the living room with him.
Things were starting to spin again, but this felt different. His head was still light, but everything was starting to spin. He tried to sit down on the couch but ended up laid down with on his stomach with his face pressed into the cushions. The vodka in his hand toppled onto the floor, the liquid soaking into the carpet. His stomach felt funny, and not in a good way, and his head was swimming. The room was fading…
***
“Eirick, can you get the door?” Laila called.
“Ja, mamma,” he called back, fitting his keys into the lock.
The door opened with a click, and Eirick walked inside. He knew something was off the second he got inside, because the apartment smelled like alcohol and vomit. He walked into the kitchen, placing the shopping bags he had on the table, noticing the empty pill bottles laying there. They were Even’s, he knew.
“Even?” he called. He followed the smell of alcohol into the living room, where he saw Eve laying on the couch. “Even?” He knelt down next to his brother, careful of the vomit on the carpet and the couch. He picked up the bottle of vodka loosely held in his brother’s hand and set it aside on the coffee table. He shook Even’s shoulder. “Even? Come on, buddy, you gotta wake up.” He could hear the panic in his own voice. “Even, please, come on, buddy.” When Even didn’t move, didn’t even mumble, he turned back to the front door and yelled. “Mamma! Mamma, help!”
She came rushing in, blonde hair flying this way and that. “Eirick, what do you… Even?” She ran forward, placing her hand on Even’s shoulders and shook him. “Baby, come on. Even?” She was breathing fast. She put her fingers on his neck. “Call an ambulance. He still has a pulse but it’s fading.” She looked at her oldest son. “Now, Eirick!”
***
Something smelt funny. That’s the first thing Even noticed. Something in the room smelt funny.
He opened his eyes slowly, taking in the disheveled man in the chair next to him. He had brown hair and a five day old beard, his glasses eskew. He looked like he slept in those clothes. Even realised it was his dad. Where was he?
Looking around, Even saw that he was in a hospital room. There were lots of tubes and wires attached to Even’s arms and hands, and two snaking under the blanket. When he shifted slightly he knew that the small tube under the sheets was a catheter, and blushed slightly. They had stuck something up his dick, and that was a bit weird. The other was going to his stomach. That one kind of hurt, but he thought it must be important if he’s got it.
“Even?”
He looked back over to his dad, who was staring at him with wide eyed wonder.
“Papa?”
“Oh, Even.” He stood and wrapped his arms around his son’s shoulders, burying his face in his son’s hair. “Oh, baby, welcome back.”
Even lifted an arm to pat his dad’s back, feeling slightly numb to everything. “What happened? Why are we hear?”
“You don’t remember?” his dad asked, sitting down. “You don’t remember anything?”
Even thought back. “The last thing I remember is…” Taking the pills. That’s why he was here. “Do I have to stay here again? In the psych ward?”
His dad looked sad. “Maybe. Your doctor knows that you’re bipolar, so it’s not like you need a psych evaluation, but you might need to stay for observation. You did try to, you know…”
“Kill myself,” Even said, resting back against the pillows.
“Yeah.”
There was a silence.
“Papa?”
“Ja, Even?”
“Don’t make me go back to Bakka. I know that I went back after I punched Mikael and all that stuff, but I know he won’t forgive me this time.”
“Forgive you for what?” His dad brought the chair closer. “Even, what happened?”
“I…” Even was quiet. He took a deep breath, and went on. “I tried to kiss him. And he pushed me away, saying that the Qu’ran said it was wrong, and that I was going to hell. And I did some stupid shit, posting all the verses on facebook. I can’t go back.”
His dad sighed heavily through his nose, taking Even’s hands in his own. “I’ll talk to your mamma. I think it’ll be okay, you need to repeat this year anyway.”
“I do?” Even looked at his dad. There were tears in his eyes, and Even knew why. “I have to repeat?”
“Ja. You missed too much school to graduate.”
“Oh.” Even looked away. “Papa? I’m sorry.”
“Oh, no, baby.” He put his broad hand on the side of Even’s face. “Baby, no, don’t apologize.”
“So you’re okay with the fact that I tried to kill myself?” Even snorted.
“Well…” His dad let out a huff of humourless laughter. “No, we’re not okay with it. But we’re not mad. We have never been mad at you for anything you’ve done while in a depressive or manic state. We don’t want you to feel ashamed. You don’t have to be ashamed of what you did. You thought it was the only way out. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
“I’m not ashamed.” Even shook his head. “I’m not ashamed I tried to do it. I’m ashamed that I hurt you. That I worried you. I’m not sorry I tried to kill myself, I’m sorry I worried you.”
His dad nodded. “Okay. Okay, son. Then I forgive you. I will always forgive you.”
***
Even went home two days later, with new pills and new shoes. His dad had bought him new shoes on the way home, because Even didn’t want to go home quite yet. Didn’t want to face the house, the place he’d been. So he convinced his dad to take him to the shoe shop and buy him some new shoes. It was nice, just the two of them.
When he got home, his mother hugged him tight to her, breathing him in and crying a little. She had been doing a lot of crying recently. His older brother hugged him next, and then his little sister and his younger brothers. They all hugged him.
“Where did you go?” Avid, one of his youngest brothers asked.
“I went somewhere to get help.” Even smiled down at him.
Later that night, Even was walking passed the bathroom to his room when his mother called him.
“Ja, mamma?” he asked, poking his head in.
“Could you leave your pills in the bathroom from now on, sweetie?” she asked.
He sighed. “Ja, sure.”
“Thanks, baby.”
***
It was the start of the new year. He was at a new school where no one knew him. Well, almost no one. He had spotted the familiar black hijab from across the courtyard, and his heart had nearly stopped when she waved at him. He waved back though.
It was then that he noticed the absolutely perfect boy stood in a group behind her. He had a red snapback on, a grey hoody that was way too big for him, and skinny jeans. His face was beautiful, and Even felt a swooping in his belly he hadn’t felt in a while. Not since he and Sonja had started dating. He hadn’t even felt it for Mikael, which just solidified it in his mind that everything that happened with him had been a manic phase. But this boy…
He found out later, through the familiar girl Sana, that he was named Isak.
Isak.
Even though that his name was perfect.