Lost But Never Alone

"I really don't need to be here, you know," I told the dreary beige walls and

disgustingly clashing deep purple chairs for the fourth time. If anyone had seen

me right now, I am sure they would have disagreed. However, this was not me! I

don't need to see some middle age woman who thinks she can understand me.

I'm NOT CRAZY!

Oh god here she comes. Same as all the rest of them. Old. Ugly. Dirty. Nothing

like me, so how in the world could she understand me?

Maybe I should have started by explaining me a little bit. My names Louisa, I'm

17, a straight A student, and right now I'm waiting for this old woman to

introduce herself as my new psychologist.

I'm not actually crazy; I don't need to be here. But ever since my dense over-

caring mother thought I was going to be forever insane she has put me through

these tedious meetings, which cost her a fortune! Every time she arranges a new

appointment with these people I make it a point to tell them as little as possible

just to spite her.

Oh here we go the whole "It must have been hard for you to loose someone you

were so close to at such a young age" speech. Oh come on! Get something

original, please. Just for once I would like someone to just ask me what I want

to talk about, maybe if they were closer to my age I might just respond but with

queues of old loopy doctors trying to fix me I just cant be bothered with them

anymore.

Yeah it was tough when I lost my Michael, we were both just 13 when we met, he

was my first proper boyfriend and it was so fun and exciting, until we found out

about the tumour, and of course it was hard, but we dealt with it. Nothing

changed between us, we were "Lou Lou and Mike' the sweetest couple in town.

I visited him every single day he was in hospital. I was round his house every day

after school. I stayed over every weekend. Only going home when I was

desperate for necessities. I defended him, whenever anyone was horrible about

him at school we had all the rumours; he was in jail or he was just bunking or he

didn't care about anything so he didn't come to school or even he had "topped

himself' " that one was hard to deal with.

I threw him the best birthday anyone had ever had; it took a long time to plan. I

got all his family over from Ireland and America, he was so delighted, he was

happy everyday. Even though we all knew he would never make it we hoped with

all our hearts that he would last for years. He had been the sweetest guy in the

world while he was in that too clean, depressing hospital, he would always be

asking everyone if they were ok, typical mike even when he knows that he might

not have long left he put himself last. His birthday was one of the happiest days

of my life.

We ended up losing him to the cancer six short days after his 14th birthday. It

was the worst day of my life. I don't think there will be any pain that was, or will

ever be as grim as that. It hurt. A lot. I still miss him. Everyday I think about

him and just wish it was someone else who had to die, someone who had lived a

bit, nobody deserves to die that young no matter what they had done.

I had gone a whole year without telling anyone in my family about what had

happened, of course they had to have suspected something, what with him never

coming round anymore. They just thought we had split up. I wish that were all.

All my friends obviously knew, they all were told in a special assembly dedicated

to him. I got so much sympathy after that. I didn't want it though. I just wanted

to be alone, away from all the mess, away from the pain.

I gave up everything I loved. After all I had lost the one thing I loved the most,

what was the point without him here to enjoy it with me. I now know this was

probably the worst thing to do. I just didn't care anymore. There was nothing

keeping me around. I ran away. My mum always caught me; I would come up with

the most stupid reasons for doing it. "I'm sorry mum but I thought if I ran away,

I wouldn't have to clean my room" or some other dimwitted excuse that my

mother always believed.

I started drinking as well. Heavily. I made friends with people who were about

three, maybe four years older then me; they didn't mind me hanging around.

They even offered me drugs at some points. I accepted these as well. Anything

that would make me forget, I took without asking. That was the most moronic

idea I ever had.

I bet your wondering what mad me change everything" now this bit is going to

sound the most moronic. I was just sitting in my room a few months after, I

suppose you could call it the breakdown, I was off my head. Somehow still

managing to cry my eyes out, just like any other day. But then I saw something,

this is the loopy bit, it looked just like Michael, except he was a lot paler and

when I tried to reach out to him it was like there was noting there.

We sat for what feels like forever, just staring at each other, it was the closest

I've been to happy in a long time. Then I heard his voice in my mind, as if he was

whispering right into my brain, he said he was disappointed in me, that I had

broken every promise I had made to him. That was hell, right in the middle of

heaven.

I didn't understand why he was saying these things to me; I didn't remember all

my promises, which just made me, cry even more. But then that's all what was in

my mind, his voice telling me over and over to make sure when he's gone I'll look

after myself, keep his memory happy and don't be sad. "I'll always be there with

you" he had whispered on his last day "Don't ever forget what we had but try to

forget these last days" I remember saying I would. I remember promising him.

From that point on I started trying to change. I started trying to heal. It

started small. I told my friends I could hang around with them anymore. I

needed to be a better person. I needed to make things right. They laughed at

me first, they didn't believe me.

After that I decided it was the right time to tell my mum what had really

happened 11 months and 4 days ago. She was so shocked at first that she didn't

believe me I had to call up mikes mum and get her to prove it. I'm sorry I did

that; it must have been very difficult for her and the family. I should have

found a different way. But I know that's the only way my mother would believe

me these days.

She tried so many different tactics to try to get more information to help me. I

knew she couldn't though. She had never lost somebody she loved. She had never

lost anybody.

And that's somewhat how I ended up here, with my 27th councillor. Talking at me

on how I should have told someone earlier. How keeping things bottled up would

only end up with me going into depression again. Even though I had never said a

word during my sessions. What was the point; I had the best way anyone could

have wished for to keep my life straight.

I had my angel.

I had my Mike.