Joy Doesn't Mean Joyful - A Novel - Volume 8

Joy

Doesn't Mean Joyful

By Emily François with illustrations by Sophia Fukuda

About the writer

Emily François is a young female who writes as a treasured hobby. She started writing at thirteen and since then has fallen in love with it. When she was in eleventh grade, her English teacher announced that they would be writing short stories on love and solidarity (or the lack of) and she immediately jumped at the idea. She wanted to create something that not only talked about the “taboo” topic of mental health—something she didn’t see much of—but something that was also different than the stories she was constantly reading where everything got magically better in the end. While she wasn’t (and isn’t) a fan of tragic endings, she wanted to show the other side of the story.

She wanted to do the opposite where everything got worse, showing that, sometimes, not every situation gets better. It was therapeutic, in a way, to create and a good exercise for her.

Now, while she has not created any new stories, she still writes little things here and there for the fun of it. All she wants to do now is progress in her writing ability and enjoy the feeling. Her love for writing has not died and for her, that is just enough.

Illustrations by

Sophia Michiko Fukuda Sophia Fukuda is a digital illustrator, and full time doodler. Her work is inspired by observations of local ecologies, retro advertising illustrations, and characters she meets on the daily. She combines these influences with her experience of life on Earth, to tell little stories about our world. She hopes to bring colour, balance and energy to the page, and does so with the help of her trusty digital pen and tablet. She was born in Atlanta, GA, and now resides in Long Beach, CA. Explore more of her art on her Instagram page, @sophie.fukuda.

Art of Me promotes human rights, healthy relationships, and community connection for young people through an interdisciplinary curricula that enables them to tell their unique stories and perspectives through writing, film and art.

Special thanks to: Dwight Jennings Phill Grubler Brooklyn Collaborative Studies Golda Calonge Art of Me Editor's Circle

Dedication: For those who hold more than they show, care more than they know, and still have room to grow—this is for you.

To those who think that they know, rarely ever show,and have yet to grow: Listen up. __________________________

With special thanks to Dwight Jennings, my old English teacher and one of my most trusted adult influences. Without you, I would have never written a story so bold and definitely never share it with anyone but you. Thank you for all of your support— not just in class but for every year you’ve known me and everything I’ve gone through. You truly helped me through a lot and I cannot thank you enough for it. Though I don’t say it to you often, you really are an incredible person. _________________________ Thank you to: Cecilia Remedios Mejia for working through this process with me for so long and giving amazing help.

Sophia Michiko Fukida for bringing my story to life with such wonderful artwork.

Christine Favara for also always supporting me and comforting me through my high school years and for always giving me great advice when I need it the most.

Amya Williams, a friend since childhood and a sister at heart, for always encouraging me to just go for it and create what I want.

Ysabella Diaz, a friend always ready and available to do whatever, for showing me new joys and giving me fun moments.

My family for always telling me that I can do it no matter how much I think I can’t.

Thank you

♥

Content Warning: Self Harm, Suicide

To learn more about mental health resources within education please visit https://artofme.org/sel-programs/pd-workplace/ in the Power & Community Curriculum

2

Hey, sorry to bother you. Are you busy?

Read 11/27/17 Read. Read but not replied to. The date almost taunts me. Five days ago he read it. Seven days ago I sent it. When is he going to reply? Knowing him, he just opened the message without really reading it. It’s okay though. I know he’s really busy. That’s what happens when you’re in college and working. I’m just a full-time college student so I can’t really understand what he’s going through. He’s just busy that’s all.

Just busy.

I lock my phone, watching the message fade away from me. I know staring at it is just going to make my mind race more. It’s just going to make me wonder more. I don’t have to worry or wonder. I’m going to see him eventually. I’m going to talk to him again sometime soon. I know I will.

I need to. It’s no longer a want. I need to see him, to speak to him.

I just need to. I know that sounds really clingy, and I hate being a clingy girlfriend, but it’s so much of a need now that it feels like I’m off my medication again. My body and mind are so used to him being here, talking to me, holding me, comforting me, that this period of absence is driving me crazy. It’s like seeing my medication so close in reach but can’t grab it and take it. And if it’s one thing I know about not taking my medicine, it’s really painful and hard to go without it. It’s destabilizing.

3 Speaking of taking medication, I have to take my pills once this class ends. I’ll just wait for Layla and Madelene to come and then when we go to lunch I’ll take them. Let’s hope they don’t take too long. Those two girls are such social butterflies that they’re always stopping and talking to someone. And I mean always. I’ll give them this when it comes to food they never take too long. They always rush to get food, even if they want to continue talking. You’d think they were in high school by the way they still act. Hey good for them, keep your youth as long as you can.

I put my bag on my shoulder and leave the room. Now to meet up with those two and then we can finally go eat. I need coffee. Like a whole large cup of espresso straight. Otherwise, I’ll never be able to stay awake for the lecture I have at 3 o’clock. I’d be out like a light, and as much as I’d love to sleep, cause God knows I need to, I cannot afford to miss this class. Quite literally. Classes are too damn expensive for me to fail and that lecture today is really important. By some miracle of God, if there is one, when I turn the corner, Layla and Madelene are already there chatting up a storm.

Yes, we can go get food now and my coffee and out of the crowds of people.

“Took you long enough, Almond Joy. Aren’t you always here before us? What happened?” Layla says.

“I didn’t pack up before the time so it took me a bit to grab my books.”

“You psychology majors and all your books.”

“You fashion majors and all your papers.”

Madelene laughs as Layla makes a face at me for mocking her. I may carry a lot of books but at least I’m neat and organized. All her papers are all over the place but for her, it’s organized chaos. I want to take out that organized part. It’s just chaos.

5

“What are you laughing at Miss Graphic Design? Your everything is everywhere. You probably have the most stuff to keep track of out of us three,” Layla says, throwing her a smirk.

Madelene feigns being wounded, doing an extravagant gesture to match the look of fake hurt on her face.

“Well, I’ve never. I am not that messy. I just have more products to hold and love,” she says.

“Yeah yeah yeah. Let’s go get some food. I need coffee stat. I’m thinking we go get some pizza and fries. It is Tuesday.” I say.

Their faces light up at the words and before my mind registers it I am being pulled by both arms down the block.

They laugh and don’t let go of me. Lunch goes by and we have an enjoyable time like we always do. Afterwards, classes just go by since it’s not hard for me to focus on what’s going on.

Before I know it, I’m walking home.

It doesn’t take me long to get home, maybe thirty minutes top. I walk into the dark house.

We really need some light in here but electricity costs money. Use as little as possible.

“Oh hello, Joy. How was your day?” Aunt April asks.

“It was good Aunt April. Nothing special really. How was yours?”

“It was fine. I did some grocery shopping and then the laundry. There was a great deal on strawberries so I bought you a whole bunch.”

I smile. They’ll be gone in two days tops.

“Thanks. I’m going to my room now to do some work,” I say.

I walk past her and head to my room. As I pass the living room the familiar smell of alcohol fills my nose. Uncle Dan is home.

“Hey, Uncle Dan. I’m home. I’ll be in my room if you need me.”

I get a grunt and a raise of his beer bottle in recognition as he continues to watch the tv. I don’t pay it much mind though. It’s the normal routine after all.

I just go in my room and sit down on the bed, preparing to do homework. It’s only been two years since I graduated high school but somehow the homework always seem to make me feel like I’m back there.

On a good note, only one joy comment was made today. A typical “your name is joy so be joyful” comment that I have been receiving since middle school.

I pull out my phone. I just want to check.

Hey, sorry to bother you. Are you busy Read 11/27/17

Still just read.

7

9

“JOY! HEY JOY!” I internally cringe and mentally curse. Out of all people to run into going to class. The world must hate me. Maybe if I pretend that I didn’t hear her I could get away.

“HEY JOY WAIT UP!” I sigh and stop walking as I see people beginning to look at me weird. Heck, I would look at me weird too if a girl was loudly calling someone’s name and chasing after them. I guess I just have to do what I do best. Fake smile, say some nice words, and then work my way out of the conversation. It always works.

I turn around with my famous bright grin. My Joy grin.

“Adrianna what a surprise. It’s been so long since we’ve last seen each other,” I say.

“I know right. Last time we saw each other was graduation day. You had such a pretty dress that day. You looked gorgeous.”

“Thanks. So how’s college life for you? Are you still dating that boy, uh Mathias right? How is he? Still a cutie? You guys were so adorable together,” she says.

“Matthew, and yeah we’re still dating. He’s fine just a bit busy with college and work. Aren’t we all,” I reply.

Time to get going. She’s slowly going into personal territory and I don’t appreciate that.

“Well it was nice seeing you again but I have to get going. I don’t want to be late to class. You know what classes are like,” I say, slowly taking a step away.

10 She laughs but it sounds chilling. Not the chilling that’s scary but the chilling that something terrible just happened and she finds it funny.

“Same old Joy. Tell me Joy dear, do your boyfriend and friends still have to deal with your little habit? I see you still wear long sleeves. I thought I told you, you’re beautiful no matter how many scars your arms have.”

My fingers do a little dance at the question on their own will. It’s a loaded question and her smile is antagonizing. She knows what she’s doing. She always did.

“I’m just wearing my long sleeves because I’m always cold.

You know I was always cold. It is fall, I’m just being prepared.

It’s nothing bad.”

“That’s great to hear. It was so tragic when the school found out about your habit. You looked so unjoyful .”

Unjoyful. She throws the word carelessly but somehow with point. A target. She did it with a motive in mind.

I check my phone, pretending to check the time. I need to get out here and fast.

“Yeah, it was a rough time. I really have to go though, I’m going to be late to class if I don’t start running now. It was a nice chat. Have a nice day Adrianna,” I say, turning on my heels and speed walking my way out of there.

I walk as fast as my legs will take me. How dare she bring that up?

That time out of all the things. She wanted to see me squirm. Unfortunately, I don’t walk fast enough for my mind to stay dormant.

Instead, it springs to life.

11 Unjoyful.

I hate that word. It’s hurled at me as an insult, a scolding, a weapon. It’s no longer viewed as a feeling when it comes to how people see me. It’s just something I never can be. I’m not allowed to be.

I get to class right before it starts. I quickly take a seat and grab my notebook and a pen.

“Let’s get started. Open your books to page 391. We will be continuing our topic from yesterday.”

The words go in my head but nothing is really processing. The discussion is just sitting there. Notes go on my page but I have no clue what they really mean.

I drop my pen when I feel a sharp prick in my right arm. I look down and see my nails digging into my arm through my shirt. How long have I been doing that? I bend down to pick up my pen and on my way up I notice my leg shaking. Have I been doing that the entire time?

Come on Joy, what’s going on with you today? Today is just not my day. It’s okay though. There are those days. It’ll be gone by tomorrow. Just try to focus now.

“I heard she cuts so much that her arms changed colors.”

“Well, I heard that she messed up a few times and on her arms, you could see the scars going down the street instead of across the lane if you know what I mean.”

“That’s some joy she has huh?”

Snap out of it. Don’t let that girl bring up memories that we sworn never to return.

They’re unwanted.

“Just like you.”

13

“You okay Almond Joy? You seem a little spaced out. It’s been like that for a few days now.” Layla asks.

I take a sip of my coffee and shake my head. When I put my coffee down I give them both a smile. Muscle memory.

“Yeah, I’m fine, just going over class notes in my head. That last lecture I had was not something that I understood easily,” I say.

"If you weren’t so absent minded then maybe you would have understood better you liar."

It’s not true. It’s not true. It’s just in your head.

I go into my bag and grab my medicine bottle. I take out a pill and pop it in my mouth. It only takes a swallow of water and the pill is gone. Now, all it needs to do is work.

“Didn’t you already take your two pills today?” Madalene asks.

“I don’t think so. I usually take it at lunch remember. I mean I don’t recall taking them. I take them with my daily coffee,” I respond.

"Stop lying. You took two earlier. They saw you. You can’t fool them."

Shut up.

“If you say so. We just don’t want you to take too much that’s all.

You know what’s medicine is like,” Layla says.

14

“Don’t worry about it. I’m cool. I just don’t want to forget about it. You know how terrible it is when I don’t take my medication.

With all the work I’ve been doing, I’ve even forget to stop writing and go eat,” I say, trying to sound joking.

“Of course. Leave it to worker Joy to drown herself with work.

See you deserved this lunch. You should thank us for taking you to lunch early today. And you wanted to skip it. You should take advantage when your class gets canceled. We sure do,” Madelene says.

The rest of my day goes by in a blur, like all my days have been this last week. Ever since I had the unfortunate opportunity to run into Adrianna, my mind hasn’t been able to focus on anything really.

Nothing but those thoughts. The ones that shouldn’t be there.

14

15

I walk home as quickly as I can. The walk home is one of my danger zones. I feel my mind chastise myself every time I don’t have a light smile on my face while walking.

They’re looking at you. Smile. You have to smile.

I have to smile. There’s nothing wrong with smiling. Smiling is the first step to being happy. Everyone wants to be happy. I have to be happy. I need to be happy. Right? Right??

The walk is quiet if you take away my loud thoughts. As quiet as it could be in the city. Well, I guess this is a quiet city. It’s not like New York or anything so it’s definitely quiet compared to that. I unlock the front door to the house and enter the dark house.

“You’re back early. Were your friends were busy today?”

Aunt April asks. Uncle Dan stands there too with his signature beer bottle in one hand and his other reaching for another beer in the refrigerator.

“I just have a lot of work to work on,” I reply, smiling.

I watch as Aunt April continues to write her checklist which is most likely for tomorrow. Always doing something.

“So did you and Uncle Dan figure out if you’re coming to my college community festival Saturday? I’ll be running a booth.”

“Oh, we’d love to but I’ll have to see if I could make the time. You know how things are sometimes. Lines here, people there.”

“Yeah yeah I get it,” I give a fake chuckle, “don’t worry about it Aunty. If you can’t make it then it’s okay.”

17 I’m not going to hold it against her really. It’s known that she’s usually busy. Her big heart let’s her say yes to every favor someone asks of her along with the chores she already has to do. She’s such a sweet woman and I love her for it.

It still kinda hurts though. They never come to anything of mine.

Not in middle school, not in high school, and not in college. The only thing they came to was my high school graduation.

"Mom and Dad always came to all of your events."

I internally wince at the thought. Those memories are too happy to look back on. Just too hard to think about.

“We’ll see,” she says.

I silently take that as a no and turn to head to my room.

“You know you should smile more. Your parents named you Joy for a reason you know,” Uncle Dan finally says from behind me.

"I know."

20

I walk away and go to my room. I drop my bag on my bed and begin to dig through it. I take out my medicine again. Before any thoughts could go against it, I take another pill and throw it in my mouth. I take the water bottle from my bag and take a gulp. Taking more medicine. Damn.

"Only take two a day" That’s not happening. I want these thoughts gone. The medicine is supposed to help me. It’s supposed to help with it all. It’s been helping ever since it was first prescribed so why isn’t two pills not working anymore? Days go by, 2 pills, 3 pills, 4 pills. I know I can get sick from taking this much but I really need this gone.

I remember the days I used to come into my room and listen to music to feel better which slowly faded into writing which faded into drawing. Now it’s just filled with pills, pills, and more pills as I try to forget the dangerous thoughts that plague my mind.

I unlock my phone and go to my messages.

Hey, sorry to bother you. Are you busy?

Read 11/27/17 Still just read. My thumbs hover over my keyboard as I debate on sending another message to him

He would text me if he had the time. I put down the phone and sit at my desk.

"Don’t be such a clingy girl. He would text you if he had the f free time. You’re just bothering him.”

23

The festival looks beautiful.

Everyone seems to be having such a good time. It’s lively and pretty crowded. I actually didn’t expect this many people to show up. I mean I heard that these events can be really fun and buzzing but I didn’t think it would be like this. I guess I should’ve come to these last year when I wasn’t in charge of running a booth. It seems like people really enjoy it.

No Aunt April or Uncle Dan though.

I knew they wouldn’t show up. They never ever do. Uncle Dan won’t go anywhere that doesn’t have alcohol unless Aunt April drags him and Aunt April is always too busy with her stuff to ever to go somewhere that’s not on her list. I wish they were here.

I wish they would just come for me.

"They’d have to care about me to do that. All I ever do is put more ‘ work on them. It’s not a big thing if they don’t want to come."

Still hurts though. Everyone wants a bit of support. Especially when they work hard on something.

"Mom and Dad would have been here having a great time."

I miss them. Now is not the time though to think about that. Just enjoy the festival.

Just be joyful.

24

People come and go to my booth and I find myself waiting for the person who will take the next shift to come more and more. It’s not that I don’t like to do this, I just feel uncomfortable. For once in my life, my forced smile actually feels forced. It feels unnatural. I don’t like it.

“Woah Joy are you okay?”

Layla and Madelene finally walk up to my booth. I thought they weren’t going to come either.

They probably felt bad for me and came.

“You look like you haven’t slept in days. How long has it been since you last slept? You look like you’re going to pass out,” Madelene says.

The truth is it feels like I am too. I was able to hide a bit better earlier in the week but now I guess it’s really showing. I haven’t slept in a few days and the sleep I got before my nights of staying awake was not that good to begin with. My body is as drained as my emotions.

“I’m fine. I just didn’t get much sleep last night that’s all. A bit of sleep is all I need,” I reply.

“You need a lot of sleep. Your eyes have dark circles around them. It almost looks like you were punched in the eyes. You need sleep asap. It’s probably all that work you’ve been doing. Your mind is so used to working and thinking that it’s keeping you up at night,” Layla says.

26 My mind is definitely keeping me up at night. It won't shut up. Not even for a second. It's as if it hates the silence so it must keep on going.

"Once the next person comes to take their shift, I think I'm just going to go home. I got to see some other booths before I had to come here so I won't be missing anything really," I respond.

I know though even if I go home nothing is going to change. I'm going to go in my room, just to try to ignore Uncle Dan's choosing drinking over me and Aunt April choosing work instead of me. I'm going to sit on my bed and take two extra pills that I know my body doesn't need. I'm going to pray to whoever cares that the medicine works for once and stops the voices and thoughts. Then I'm going to hear the thoughts get louder and I'm going to throw myself in work or try to sleep. Nothing will change.

"That may be a good idea for you. We hope you get some sleep. If it means anything, we really enjoy this festival. It's amazing. You all did such a great job," Madelene says.

I'm glad they did. I would hate it if they hated this festival after I invited them here.

"They're probably just saying that to make me feel better."

"I'm glad you guys do. I wanted you guys to have a good time. Sorry I look so terrible. I think that's why kids ran away from the booth. I think I scared them," I say.

Parents also gave me strange looks throughout the time. I must look like the walking dead right now.

"I think it's because they never saw someone so beautiful so they had to run away and tell someone about the lovely girl they saw," Layla says.

"Stop lying to me."

27

"You're too kind. I'm sure it was because of my eyes though."

I'm a hideous person at this moment in time so I doubt kids were telling others about my quote on quote beauty.

"You guys go on now. Continue to enjoy the festival. My replacement should be here soon," I say.

"If you say so. Be good Almond Joy. Go get some sleep okay," Layla says.

"I'll definitely try to," I reply.

The two walk away to go on to other booths. At least they seem to be enjoying themselves. They always do.

"Why can't I be like that? Happy, cheerful, enjoying everything.

Why am I stuck in the dumps?"

Eventually, my replacement comes and I thank him for taking my spot, even though that's what he's supposed to do. I step out of the booth, glad to finally have the chance to go home, even though I'm only going home to just suffer.

"Hope you'll be okay. They ask a lot of questions," I tell him.

"I'll be fine, thanks for the heads up," He says.

I begin to walk away but even my tired ears catch things I'm not supposed to hear.

28 "So unjoyful for someone named Joy." "I did something wrong again. I have to be joyful. People think I'm not joyful."

I turn around and with all my energy I give him a smile as bright as I can. It takes a lot out of me but it’s needed.

"Have fun. Thanks again," I say, trying to sound as cheerful as possible.

I turn back around before he can say anything and hightail it out of there. I weave in and out of the crowd with my only goal being to get home. I failed again at the only thing I'm supposed to do in life.

Be joyful.

I walk as fast as possible, trying to escape.

"They look happy. Oh, she looks happy too. That couple seems really happy. Everyone here seems happy. All except me."

My fast walk becomes a light jog as my thought bombard me with more happy people.

"Why can't I be happy? Why can't I be happy?"

I run my fingers through my hair, tugging on it as my breath becomes harder to catch. My feet skid to a stop as my eyes land on a family. A mother, a father, and a little girl. I can see the true happiness in the girl's eyes. Her smile is real. Her laugh is real. Her joy is real.

"That can never be me."

That's when everything goes quiet.

29

Everything passes by like a blur and the wind slaps my face. I don’t see the people around me. All I hear is the sound of those screeching tires from that day. All I can hear is the sound of an 11-year-old me screaming for my now dead parents. All I can see is the day silence found its way to my heart.

And with those memories, all I can do is run.

I run out of the crowd. I run down blocks. I run home. I just run. I run trying to escape that day. I run trying to escape the joy I’ll never have. I run just trying to escape.

It doesn’t work though.

As I enter the house, silence overtakes me even more. No one is home. I’m all alone. Again and again and again I’m alone when what I need is someone to hold me. Someone to hold that 11-yearold girl and tell her it’s okay. Someone to tell her that she doesn’t have to smile. She doesn’t have to be joyful. All she has to do is keep going and be human. Not some emotion. I immediately run to my room and lock the door. I pace around the room, pulling and tugging at my hair, gasping for air. I’m breathing much too fast for my lungs to function properly.

"Be happy. Be happy. Just. Be. Happy."

No wrong word. Joyful. Just be joyful.

But I can’t. I can’t be joyful. I haven’t been joyful since that stupid day. I haven’t been joyful and I try and try to be. I try so hard but I can’t be joyful.

My eyes catch sight of my medication on the desk. The medication is ‘supposed to help me.

"It can put me to sleep. I can go to sleep and wake up with mom and dad. I can go to sleep and not bother anyone again."

30

I unlock my phone and my hand goes to my messages. There are only five people I text. Only five people I constantly bother.

I can’t tell them this in a text though.

I go to my desk and turn on my laptop. I sign into my Facebook account and turn on the camera. This is for the better. This is the best.

I take a shaky breath and press start.

“Hi everyone, my name is Joy Bleu. My parents gave me the name Joy because, as they once told me, I was the joy of their life. My parents died when I was 11 and ever since then I couldn’t live up to my name. Who was I supposed to be a joy for? People always told me that I’m supposed to be joyful, it is my name. Even though that wasn’t why I was given my name, I still felt terrible every time I wasn’t joyful. I felt useless like I failed my only purpose in life.”

My hands fidget under my desk as I feel my body shake more and more. My eyes begin to burn and I know that they are watering up.

“Here’s the truth though, I’m not always joyful. I suffer from depression. I haven’t had a joyful day in years without the darkness swallowing me whole. Joy is my name but it’s not my personality. It is not who I have to be. But to everyone else, it’s what I have to be so I’m here to tell you all sorry.”

Here I go. This is for them.

32 “To my Aunt and Uncle, I’m sorry you had to raise me so suddenly. When Mom and Dad died, you took me in and suddenly had to raise a kid you never expected to had. I’m sorry that you had to go through the struggles of going to the doctor’s with me and the therapist. I’m sorry you had to raise a niece so unexpectedly and I’m sorry I wasn’t an easy kid. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you how much I love you in the years I lived with you. I’m sorry that I was never able to tell you how much it actually meant to me that you took me in after everything. I’m so sorry.”

“To my two best friends Layla and Madelene, I’m sorry you had to go through so much with me. I’m sorry that you had to remind me a lot in high school to take my medicine. I’m sorry that you to deal with my constant hugs and close walking to you. I’m sorry that I’m telling you this in a video. I love you both and you guys are like sisters to me.”

Now tears begin to flow down my cheeks. My right-hand digs its nails into my left wrist. It stings but it doesn’t hurt me. Sharp objects never hurt me. No matter how many times I used one, how much I dug it into my skin, no matter how much I bled, it never hurt.

“To my boyfriend Matthew, I love you so much. I know you’re busy at times and I’m sorry that I’m so clingy. I’m sorry that I always want affection. I’m sorry that you had to be there when I decided to stop taking my medicine because I wanted to be ‘normal’. I’m sorry that you had to hold my hand when all I could do was cut and cut until my arms were red. I’m sorry you had to watch all of that. I only ever wanted to make you happy but I just brought you sad moments. I love you and the years we have been together. I’m sorry I couldn’t hug and kiss you one last time before this.”

A part of me thought that maybe if I get these words out that I would reconsider and just forget about going to sleep. That’s not the cast though. If anything, my thoughts are pushing me more and more of it.

33 "To anyone and everyone who feels like they just can't find joy but are forcing a smile for the world, I'm sorry. I'm sorry that you are like me. I'm sorry that you have to smile even though you're hurting. This isn't one of those cases where if you're positive and smiling you'll feel better.

You don't have to smile. Tell someone, please. Tell someone and let them help you find your joy. If my purpose in life is to bring joy then let me tell you this. Go find your joy and take someone with you. Take your medicine if you have to. Talk to your therapist if need be. Paint, write, draw, dance. Do something. Do something before you get to the point of emptiness where not even what you love makes you feel better. Do something before you reach the point where medicine doesn't work and talking doesn't help. Do something before you reach my point."

For the last time in my life, I force a smile. It isn't for the camera though. It's for me. It's what I'll be giving up.

"So that's all, you guys. I just wanted to say sorry. I guess this is it.

I only have one more thing to say. Joy doesn't mean joyful. Goodnight guys."

I leave the camera rolling as I grab my medicine and take off the top.

I pour all the remaining pills, which isn't a lot but enough for what I need. I grab my water bottle and down the hatch, they go.

I stop the video and upload it. By morning time, everyone I care about will see it. I leave the video up and open so Aunt April and Uncle Dan can see it. It's time to lay down.

I take off my clothes and put on my pajamas. No fear, no worries, nothing. My mind is calm for the first time in weeks as I lay down on my bed and get under the covers.

I close my eyes.

37 Screams filled the air the next morning as one couple finds their niece peacefully not moving or breathing. The only thing on her is a smile. A real smile.

Ambulances swarm the streets and paramedics fill the house. But it’s too late to save her.

The couple watches over and over her video. The wife for once doing nothing on her list for the day and the husband refusing to touch even a single drop of alcohol.

“My little girl! No not my girl! Please don’t take away my little girl!”

The wife screams, breaking down as paramedics cover the girl’s body.

She cries into her hands as her husband holds her tightly.

He dares to let the tears welling in his eyes to fall. Why didn’t they see her pain earlier? Why didn’t they go to her festival? Why didn’t they just spend more time with her?

“You were our joy,” the husband whispers hoarsely as he just listens to his niece’s video.

She said she was no one’s joy anymore but little did she realize how much of a joy she was to the people who cared for her since she was eleven. She was their joy and now she’s gone.

Across town, two girls scream and cry as they rewatch the video.

They prayed it was all just a terrible dream but when they got that call from their beloved friend’s uncle, they knew it was real. They cried harder as they were told of her smile resting on her dead face. She went as if she was only going to sleep for the night.

Papers and books are thrown as everything about them remind the two of her. They didn’t even get to say goodbye to her. How could this have happened? Is this their fault? Why couldn’t they tell that all those smiles were fake?

“No it isn’t real! It’s not real! I want to see Joy! She’s going to wake up!”

38

Their screams mix with each other as they cry, wishing they did more for their friend. They wish they could’ve helped her more, been with her more, watched her more. They wish they were there.

A young man comes home that day from working a late night shift.

It’s a blessing for him when he takes off his shoes and sits down with a glass of cool water in his hand. He opens his laptop knowing that he has only so many hours before he has to go to class and there’s still a bit more work to do before he can get some rest.

A notification waits for him there and he sees that his girlfriend posted a video last night.

He clicks to watch it.

Shattering glass echoes in the house as the video plays. He mumbles no over and over to himself as he watches her cry. He feels his own face become wet as she talks to him. And he feels his heart stop as she says goodnight.

His breathing is no longer clear as he watches her take those pills.

His mind no longer works as the video stops. He no longer knows what to do.

He takes out his phone, his lock screen being him and his girlfriend together in the park. He unlocks it and goes to his messages. He looks at her last message sent weeks ago.

Hey, sorry to bother you. Are you busy?

His fingers begin to move without thought as his tears blur his vision and cover his screen. A small sob escapes his mouth as he types.

I’m sorry I was.

Sent 11:54 AM .

Art of Me is a non-profit organization operating in Cleveland and New York showing students different tools and platforms to find their truth and power through storytelling in many different formats such as film, writing, music, and much more.

To find out more about Art of Me and how you can submit your story and get involved with our programs. go to www.artofme.org

Steohanie Wahome-Lassiter Executive Director Art of Me 4600 Euclid Ave. Cleveland, Ohio, 44103

Cecilia R. Mejia Creative Director 68 3rd Street CW#60 Brooklyn, NY 11231