Free A Voice in the Distance by Tabitha Suzuma

could ever hate me.
    I am so, so sick of it. This is the overriding feeling.
They say depression is an incredible sadness, an unbearable
mental pain. No, it doesn't have to be so dramatic.
Sometimes it is nothing more than feeling tired. Tired
of life. In therapy they tell you to remember that the bad
spells pass. That things do get better, that medication
does work, that things don't stay the same. I can't see
how this is supposed to help. Ultimately everything ends
with death. What they should say is: things might get
better for a while, but eventually you will go back to
being nothing, and all the pain and suffering will have
been in vain. I wonder what Dr Stefan would have to say
to that. They say that depression makes you see everything
in a negative light. I disagree. It makes you
see things for what they are. It makes you take off the
fucking rose-tinted glasses and look around and see
the world as it really is – cruel, harsh and unfair. It
makes you see people in their true colours –
stupid, shallow and self-absorbed. All that ridiculous
optimism, all that carpe diem and life's-what-you-make-ofit.
Words, just empty words in an attempt to give
meaning to an existence that is both doomed and futile.
    I need to walk. When I start thinking like this, I scare
even myself. Because I know I'm right, and because I
know there is only one way out. There are people you're
supposed to call when you're feeling like this. The
Samaritans, my psychiatrist . . . Why? So they can talk
you out of it? Talk you out of 'harming' yourself? It's all
rubbish. I'm harmed already. I only want to be kind to
myself, to put myself out of my misery.
    I walk quickly, even though I have nowhere to go. My
warm breath mingles with the cigarette smoke, creating
small white clouds against the cold air. It has been raining,
and everything is wet and sharp and new. Cars swish
by, their lights picking out the puddles on the pavement.
A weary chill settles in between my shoulder
blades. The hand holding the cigarette is soon numb
with cold. Autumn has turned into winter.
    My mobile erupts into a series of clamorous
vibrations. I pull it hurriedly out of my jacket pocket in
the vain hope that it will be Jennah's name on the caller
ID. It's Rami. I flick the phone open without thinking.
'What?'
    'Hello. Nice to hear from you too.'
    'I'm busy.'
    'Doing what?'
    'Practising.'
    'You're outside – I can hear the wind.'
    'I'm on my way home to practise.'
    'Well, you can talk to me till you get there, can't you?'
    'I don't need you calling me every fucking day to
check up on me!'
    A weary pause. 'That's a bit of an exaggeration.
What's going on, Flynn?'
    'Nothing!'
    'Is the dose too high?'
    'How the hell should I know?'
    'There's always a massive come-down after a manic
episode, you know that,' Rami reminds me, his voice
heavy with infuriating moderation. 'And your body's
having to adjust to the increased dose in medication, so
you're getting a double whammy of depression right
now. It'll pass, Flynn.'
    'Who the hell said I was depressed?'
    There is silence at the other end of the line and I
picture Rami biting his lip, trying to resist saying something
funny but sarky that will cause me to hang up on
him.
    After Rami finishes quizzing me about my mood,
side-effects, psych appointments and all the fucking
rest, I leave the park and find myself heading towards
Harry's. My pride tells me I should go home and wait it
out, but a strange mix of self-destruction and despair
keeps me going. I have sunk so low now, it almost entertains
me to try to sink further. I pass a homeless guy in a
damp sleeping bag and realize with a jolt that there is
precious little standing between him and me. A girlfriend
who doesn't return, a couple of months' missed
rent, clothes that haven't been changed for a few weeks.
An emptied-out bank account, the last of the student
loan spent on fags and booze, parents who don't know
what to do any more . . .
    I press the buzzer to Harry's flat and