One of my church leaders died last week. I was just about to fall asleep after midnight when my mother broke the news to me. I didn't have much of a reaction. She was so young; I was shocked, but no tears were shed. I'd never lost someone before, but I always thought I'd at least show some emotion when the occasion arose.

I suppose after all these years, I've become numb to the idea of losing someone. But I've realized that there's a part of myself that never grew up and embraced the meaning of death. When a person passes, you can't ever talk to them anymore. You'll never see them smile again, hear their laugh, or be able to look them in the eyes and tell them you love them. But if that's what death is, have I not experienced death before? Every time I've moved, those relationships with others I try so desperately to maintain eventually fade. They stop talking to me. I never see them, I never hear their voice again. For all I know, any one of them might have died. 

Charlotte graduated shortly after I was discharged. I gave her a hug, but she didn't say anything. She didn't smile, either. And I knew as she drove away with her family that that interaction would be our last. She hasn't replied to my texts since I cut my finger over three months ago. Is she dead? I think I killed her.

I had a dream last night that I broke out of the hospital. They made me go back, obviously. I've dreamed about that hospital almost every day since I was discharged. That was ten weeks ago. Every morning, I wake up with tears on my pillow. I spend my days in front of my computer watching the same live concert of my favorite band. I color while I do it so my mom doesn't complain that I'm doing nothing.

For the first two or three weeks after I was discharged, I had to follow the terms I agreed to from the contract I signed. My mom wore keys hanging from a chain on her neck that locked the box to the kitchen knives. Now, I wear that same chain with the dog tags I received from my time in marching band.

I destroyed the shirt that I let Katie borrow in the hospital. I should have done that a long time ago. I scratched out the names of the kids that bullied me the worst and then ripped it to pieces. It was a bit of therapy for me - one less thing from my past to haunt me.

But the past never goes away. When no one is watching, I pace the hallways of the house, walking from room to room analyzing everything that has happened up to now. I've never understood what anxiety felt like until after I was discharged from the hospital. Instead of feeling better, all I feel is fear. Instead of wanting to tell people how I feel, I don't because I can't imagine what it would be like to go back to that place with the bolted doors and lack of sunlight. Even worse, I never want to go through what I did ever again.

Whenever I try to talk to someone, I feel so annoying. No matter what I say, I know they're mad at me for it. Why would they want to talk to me after what I did? Why do I deserve to have friends after I killed Charlotte? Sometimes when I walk into a room while pacing, I'll drop to the floor, trying to feel something. I want to talk to someone. I want Temperance to come back. I don't feel strong like her. I feel like I've killed her, too. I'm not a nice person, I can't even get my best friend to forgive me for some stupid thing I said when I was suicidal.

I knelt down to pray one night. I started off like normal, but I soon started crying. I felt like my heart was squeezing out of my throat. I feel so unbearably numb, and it's tearing me apart with pain. The hospital changed me. I no longer want to kill myself, but I have a strong desire to stop living. I can't handle the fear, I'm still shaken by guilt, and I can't bear to live with myself knowing that I killed Charlotte and was now all alone.

I asked God that night if I would survive the next few months. I got no answer. But as I bawled, I felt physical arms wrapped around me. I put my hand on my shoulder, but there was nobody there. The embrace was warm, and I never wanted it to leave.

So life goes on. I go to church, but I wear a mask to hide the suffering I feel. I love going to church, but there's no escape to the pain that is ripping me in two. But I go so no one will ask any questions. I don't want to go back to the hospital.

So I wipe the tears from my eyes and slowly roll out of bed. I turn on the live video and pour myself a bowl of cereal, but I know I will not be able to finish it. I stir it slowly, taking a few small bites periodically.

As I stare into the bowl, I begin to cry. I don't want to live like this anymore. I want to smile again - I want to smile for real - I want to laugh and not have to lie when I tell someone that I'm happy. I want to feel happy again. I don't want to be alone. I just want to talk to someone.

I just want to talk to someone.

And I know what I need. I don't need to pay someone to tell me how to distract myself from my problems. I don't need to forget about what happened. Medication doesn't do squat to take away the pain, it only makes it easier to hide it. You can't shove drugs down a person's throat and expect them to reprogram the person to be happier. No, I need to talk to someone. I don't want to talk to a professional, and I don't want to talk to my classmates, either. I need to talk to someone who doesn't know me. I need to talk to someone who has never met me before, someone who has no prior knowledge of me or what I have said or done in the past.

So I pray. It's brief; it's not as passionate as it was before. I just need to talk to someone.

Not long after I say "amen," my phone vibrates. It makes me jump a little. It's a notification: someone is sending me a message on social media.

I made an account about a month ago to talk about my favorite band. It helped distract me a bit sometimes. But I also was trying to get Charlotte to notice me. She has an account like that, too. It never worked.

I recognize the person messaging me. I don't know who he is, but I'd gotten a few notifications that he was liking my posts in the past two weeks. He has a sort of angry smolder in his profile picture, and his shirt is partially unbuttoned. His name is a common one, often associated with people who are either jerks or stereotypical mama's boys.  He's probably about 22 years old.

I open the conversation. Instead of a hello or question or something, he had sent me one of his own posts: a picture of him standing next to the lead singer of my favorite band.

I don't know what to say. But I know for a fact this was sent to the wrong person. But how? In order to send me a message, he would have had to go to my profile, type in my name, or have opened an already existing feed. Neither of us have interacted in the past. Who are you? I wanted to ask. Is this his way of saying hello?

If I was in my right mind, I would delete the message and block him immediately. But I am so lonely, I don't care who he is. So I open the keyboard and twiddle my fingers over the screen. How am I supposed to reply to this?

Finally, I type, Oh my goodness! I'm jelly!

What else am I supposed to say? I turn the phone off, expecting that to be the end of it. But it goes off again. I open the new message. Rank the band's albums best to worst.

That's a hard question. I think for a second before replying. He sends me his opinion when I do. We're the exact opposite!

He asks me more questions like what my favorite songs are, when I found out about the band, and what other bands I listen to. I don't really listen to anyone else, but he lists off about ten that I've never heard of in my life. He tells me his name (which he didn't have to, since it's in his username), but I don't give him mine. But the longer I talk with him, the more comfortable I feel.

My sister calls me to the kitchen to unfill the dishwasher, and I don't put down the phone. "Who are you talking to?" she asks.

"I have no idea," I answer.

She raises an eyebrow. "How could you not know?"

I shrug. "He just started talking to me." She doesn't ask any more questions.

I mention that I have band practice tomorrow, and he gets excited. So how long have you been in a band?

I almost laugh out loud. It's a marching band, I explain. I'm not that cool.

Oh! What do you play? he asks.

In marching band? I play trombone.

I couldn't play a wind instrument to save my life. He sends a laughing emoji. I highly doubt that's true.

I sing and play guitar for my band, he said. We just played last week.

I don't believe him. Maybe he is in a band, but there's no way he could be playing anything more than school events or on the street. Rock is a dead genre, after all; no one really plays in a band anymore. That's impossible.

I've always wanted to play bass, I said. Charlotte played bass.

You should! he replies.

Is guitar fun? I ask.

Yes! You should start with guitar first. Then the bass is easy.

He stops replying after an hour or two. That will be the last time I hear from him, I know. But for the first time in over four months, I don't cry myself to sleep at night.

Three days pass, and my favorite band releases a video for their new album coming out in a week. I think of the guy I was talking to a few days ago. I know he won't want to talk to me again, but I wish he would. I am shaking as I type a message and hit send. There is no undo button. I place the phone on one end of the table and scoot six feet away from it. I hide my face, embarrassed and anxious as I wait to see what he says. If he replies at all.

But he does. And he isn't mad. At least, he doesn't tell me he is. He asks me more about what I think about the video, and we talk for awhile before he stops replying.

As I step away from the phone, I feel different. I don't know how this random guy could bear to talk to me - not just for an hour, but for two separate conversations. So many people treated me different after what happened with Charlotte that I believed no one would ever treat me the same again. But when I talk to him, I feel happy. I feel normal again. And it feels really good. And I want him to keep talking to me.

Maybe I did kill Charlotte. Maybe I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time like everyone suggests. Maybe if I had never trusted her with my problems, she would still be talking to me today. But after meeting this guy, maybe I could find a way to live on without her. Maybe there are other people to live for.

.

It's been a month since I met that guy. But I also met other people, too, including a girl that I've been messaging for at least three hours every day about our favorite band. She met the same guy, and apparently I never told him my gender, either, because when she first tells me she talked to him, he messaged me about two seconds later, Wait, you're a girl?

I feel more comfortable than ever talking to him. And today, I've been thinking again about Charlotte. So I pluck up the courage and ask him one question.

Am I annoying?

No, he says. Sorry, I'm not always on my phone.

It's not you, I reply. I just had to ask.

When have I ever said that? he asks.

I think about that for awhile. I don't know, I say finally. My fingers move by themselves across the keys. Something happened back in March and I just -

I don't finish the sentence. I don't know what else to say. But I hit send.

Do you want to tell me?

I stare at the screen. I do want to tell him. I want to tell somebody. But I don't want him to get mad at me.

Do you have time? I text. It's kind of a long story.

Yes, he says. What happened in March?

I begin to type. But he sends one more text.

I'm here. :))

Two words. Two words and I'm crying. Those two words were all I needed to hear. I want more than anything to reach through the screen and hug him. But I do all I can do. I delete what I was typing and give him two words back: Thank you.

Shadow was gone. Jessica had left. I had killed Charlotte. But even as I told him everything that had happened in the past year, he was still there. I know he's judging me - I know it's stupid, I know I'm blowing everything out of proportion, and I know I should never have said what I did. But he doesn't yell at me. He thanks me for telling him and says he's sorry. I'm glad I got to learn more about you.

In all my life, I swear I never have nor will meet another person as kind or as sweet as he is. I don't feel alone when I'm talking to him. And unlike most of the people in my life, I truly believe that he is listening. So even though we have never actually met, I begin to trust him. And I never want that to change.

I don't know what will happen in the future. I know from past experiences that friendships never last. But I am ready to make an effort to keep this one. Peri would have been ready long ago. But Peri is me. Just as Shadow and Kate are. Although I no longer feel them in my head, I know their voices are mine. Temperance is the embodiment of the benevolent person I wish I was, and this boy has helped me accept that I am closer to that image than I initially thought.