I walk back to my house begging myself to remember what happened on the bus. I remember falling asleep and Sean waking me up, but none of that matters. What I’m worried about is the dream that filled the space in between. I remember waking up feeling terrified. What I don’t remember is why.

I let myself into my house and walk to my room, throwing my backpack on my floor. I throw myself down on my bed and close my eyes pleading for sleep to take over. It never happens. Finally, two hours later I give up and stomp downstairs. What now? I walk into the computer room and decide to do some homework. That’s when I realize that I have no idea what happened in school today. I decide that the trip back upstairs isn’t worth it, and I’m too tired anyway.

I have so many things going through my mind as I sit, in front of my computer. I’m thinking about how much I miss my friends, especially Kayla. We used to be so close before all of this started happening. We spent hours on the phone, just talking about everything, sometimes not talking at all. We swore nothing would ever bring us apart. Then my life started to fall apart with the nightmares. Now I spend my days and nights constantly begging for sleep, never getting any. I don’t know how it happened; we just started to drift away from each other. The phone calls got shorter and shorter, until eventually they just stopped. I never had the energy to call her anymore. I don’t have any classes with her in school so I barely talk to her there either. Just thinking about her now is giving me the feeling of a knife being plunged into my chest. I miss her and I hate that there was no way to save this from happening. I have more memories with her than anyone else in my life. The first day of second grade she walked up to me and simply said, “Hi, my name’s Kayla. Wanna be friends?” I wish things were still that simple.

I hear a door open in my garage. I wipe the tears from my eyes and gather the energy to get up and drag myself to my kitchen, just as my mom walks in.

“Oh! Jayda, you’re up!” She says, taken by surprise.

“Yeah.” I answer her.

“How was school honey?” Here comes her desperate attempt to make conversation.

“Fine.” I lie.

“Honey, come in the living room, let’s talk. I feel like I never get the chance to do that anymore.”

No, no, no, no, NO!

“Ok”

I have that nervous feeling now, the one that I’m sure anybody gets before a “talk” with one of their parents. I love her though, and despite everything I go through that neither she nor anyone else could possibly know of, she’s my mom.

We walk to the living room and sit across from each other. Just as I’m beginning to think the silence is getting to be unbearable she says something.

“I haven’t seen Kayla around in a while.”

I sometimes wonder if Moms can read minds. I struggle with myself now, trying to think of something to say.

“Um, yeah she’s been busy.” Wow, I tell myself, that’s the best you can come up with?

“Really? What’s she been up to?” Of course, my mother has always loved Kayla as her other daughter, I should have guessed she would be concerned.

“Uh, school, I guess. And she’s in a couple clubs.” I just made that up. I honestly haven’t talked to her at all this school year, but I’m not going to tell my mom that. She already worries enough about me.

“Well that’s good, that she’s focusing on school… Why didn’t you join any clubs with her?”

“I don’t know mom, I guess it’s just not my thing.” I tell her. I’m starting to get annoyed now, but I take a breath and try to smile.

“Jayda, I’m worried about you,”

“Mom, I’m fine.” Another lie. I’m starting to feel bad about lying to her, but sometimes the truth is more than anyone else can handle. It’s already ripped my friends from me, I’m not going to let it take my mom too.

“Honey, I heard you screaming last night, but when I came in to see what was wrong you were sleeping. You’re always tired, and your grades are all lower than they’ve ever been. I’ve talked to your teachers and they all say that you can’t even pay attention in class. I want you to see a doctor.”

No doctor can fix this.

“What kind of doctor?” I say.

“Her name is Dr. Kline. She’s a psychologist.”

“Mom, you think I’m crazy?!” I ask her, hurt.

Then, I think, I could really be going crazy, but my mom doesn’t know the half of it. She doesn’t know the thoughts that go through my unconscious mind, terrorizing every moment of the few hours of sleep I get. She doesn’t know the feeling of unbearable helplessness I feel when I wake up each morning. She doesn’t know, and she’ll never know, because even if for some crazy moment I wanted to tell her, she could never understand what I actually go through.

Mom is staring at me now, with a look of sympathy on her face. That look makes me feel sick. It’s the look I got from all of my teachers and friends in the beginning, until they just stopped caring.

“Of course I don’t think your crazy Jayda! I just think that I love you and I’m worried about you and I feel so… so… helpless.” She’s crying now, and I feel lower than I ever have before. I’ve lost friends and I’ve lost my grades, I have no life anymore. But this, here, right now is the worst thing that’s happened to me. I made my mom cry, my mom who I used to be so close to. We would spend so much time together. Every Friday night we would leave together and go out to dinner and she would always let me pick, even when I was little. I put my mom through so much before, but I have never seen her cry.

I don’t want to tell some stranger about what’s going on. No one could ever understand, I don’t even understand. But my mom’s still sitting here next to me crying, trying to hide it. I can’t do this, I don’t want to do this but…

“Mom, it’s ok, I’ll go. Everything will be alright. I promise.”