Chapter 2

C H A P T E R  2  :  T H E   B L U E   E N V E L O P E 

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Being depressed is like falling into a black hole that you can not climb out of. Depression is a wound that never heals. A wound in the back of your mind that can’t be touched because it hurts too much. It’s always there and never goes away. Constant pain, a constant reminder. Every thought is a battle, every breath is a war, and you will lose on both fronts if you give it a chance.

Depression is a serious thing but you’re not entirely hopeless. There is hope, there’s a chance to win the battle. You can’t win a battle, let alone a war, on your own, this is precisely why you need your family and friends to help you in a lifelong fight to keep you from sinking. Reach out to others to help you get out of the black hole. You may not be able to climb out alone but you certainly can be pulled out by those people who love you.

I reread the epilogue of my new book, Black Hole, displayed on the screen. It’s a book that I wrote about Sabrina, a girl who lost her father. Instead of facing his own demon, Sabrina's father took his own life in front of his family, scarring his own daughter for life.

Being a non-fiction novelist, most of my stories are about people’s experiences. I collect facts through research and interviews, then retell the stories through books. My stories, in turn, memorialize their contributions in life and highlight their suffering and pain. This way, they shall be remembered and hopefully, their story helps someone along the way, someone who currently faces these difficulties.

At the age of sixteen, Simon and Schuster took a chance on me and published my first book, turning the experience of losing a friend in a car crash into a New York Times bestselling book. Since then I have published four more books with them. The years have been good to me. Life is great. I have a successful career as a writer, I have two loving parents and one little sister whom I adore with all my heart. They are always there for me and constantly supportive of all my work. All in all, despite my independent nature and age, I lead a successful life by anyone’s standards. There’s nothing to complain about.

I tap the send button lightly, sending the manuscript straight to my editor, then stretch my body on the leather chair as I mull over what has happened today. It has been a long day for me. It all started with rereading seventy thousand words that I have written about Sabrina’s story, leaving ticks here and there on parts that I wanted to change, and then tried cleaning the attic out but after rummaging through a few boxes, my back began to protest so I stopped and went back to working on the manuscript again. Now that it is all done, I can finally have more time to finish my house cleaning. The clock on the wall tells me it's seven p.m., just enough time to clean up the boxes scattered all over the living room.

I quickly turn off my computer and walk into the living room through the adjacent door that connects my office to the other parts of my small yet comfortable home.

To be frank, noticing how many boxes are there makes me feel lazy. Yet again, if I’m not going to clean these up, who will? Downside of living alone. I roll up my sleeves and take a deep breath, mentally and physically preparing myself for the task at hand.

God, I have a lot of things to do.

I start by simply separating things that I want to keep from things that I’d like to dispose of.

As music always brought me joy, I turn on some music on my phone. In minutes, I find myself humming along with the note of a beautiful classic directed by the amazing Johann Sebastian Bach.

Time flew when we don’t pay attention to it. It’s close to ten when I finally reach the last box.

This last box, unlike the others, is smaller in size and more colorful on the surface. Carefully, I lift the dusty cap and put it down on the floor as I sit there, cross-legged, on the grey tiled floor. Most of the things inside are letters and correspondences from my family and friends, a bunch of holiday cards, and an old photograph of my sister and me standing in front of our parent's house in Ardmore, Pennsylvania. I take out the photo and put it on the table, reminding myself that I need to find a nice frame to put it on later. I return my focus to the letters, some were poems that I wrote during my teens. I pick up one and begin to read.

“Gosh, I was such a depressed lost soul,” I mutter to myself as I read several lines about how lousy life was for my thirteen-year-old self.

A strange envelope piques my curiosity, I can not remember ever receiving it. The blue color of the envelope reminds me of the summer sky, clear and idyllic. There are no markings or any indication of who the sender is. Intrigued by the discovery, I tear it open.

Before I can pull the content out, a loud noise pierces my ears. The noise comes from the phone on the table. I throw the letters and all the other things back into the box and hurriedly answer the phone.

“Hi, Mom.” I smile as I listen to my mom’s chatter about Adam Levine and Behati’s baby daughter. I plop down on the couch and turn on the TV, changing the channel to E! News and try my best to catch up with her.

This is our daily routine, talking about a celebrity’s life on the phone while watching it in sync, it almost feels like she is right beside me on the couch, sharing popcorn and pointing fingers, instead of miles away.

For quite a while, it makes me forget about the blue envelope.