Final Decision

"Paris Willet", I say. "Are you sure?", Dale asks me for the 3rd time. "Yes Dale, I'm sure", I reply. "I want her to have everything thing. Mother can keep the house and the car. The rest goes to her. Every last penny. I know mother will be upset but my decision is final", I sign the final documents and walk out of his office. DoBret and Associates was a depressing place to be. I know where the last place I want visit for the day is. My last day, I call it. Kind of dramatic, but it's true. 

Walking down London Lane brought back a lot of happy memories for me. That's what I've been doing for the past couple of months - walking down memory lane. It started out as an attempt to find any kind of happiness. This disease was slowly killing any joy I had in me and I couldn't find any happiness within the life I had. So I thought it would be a good idea to go back in the past. It worked, a little. Thinking back, I've always been depressed. A therapist once told me I had abandonment issues. She wasn't wrong. I just did not want to talk about them. I tried therapy, because that's what depressed people did, right? Go to therapy. I just didn't have the follow through to keep showing up. It got harder and harder to go in that office every week. So I decided to therapize myself. 

London Lane was where I spent most of my childhood, most of the happiest parts of my childhood. I had community in London Lane. I had a best friend I could truly count on in London Lane. My mother was a full-time doctor and in her free time, she was with Don. That left no time for me. I was left in the house alone, most of the week and when she was home, she didn't take much notice of me. My best friend and her family did. They'd invite me to have dinner with them constantly, I'd go on family vacations with them. I was even christened at their church, and I'm not even Christian, but it felt good to belong. They were my real family. I guess that didn't matter now that my decision was final. I was going to do it tonight. The idea had first really stuck in my head two years ago when I won my 6th academy award as a song writer. At that point I felt nothing. Absolutely nothing. I should kill myself, something in my brain said. First, the idea of suicide seemed like a random thought. But, the more I achieved, the emptier I felt, the more it made sense.

I started writing as a joke when I wrote an imaginary verse for my favourite popstar son twitter and it blew up. Shortly after, her management team called me up and I wrote her a multi-award winning banger, at only 17. That was 8 years ago and it felt like a lifetime. From there I was able to work with many more artists, did many interviews and even though I was not popstar famous, I sure was within the music industry.

When I got my first big check, I moved out of home. Part of me wanted my mother to beg me to stay or at least move in with me. "That is a lovely idea darling. Spread your wings. You've always been so independent", she said, to a 17 year old. And part of me thought she was right, I was smart and level headed and independent enough. Deep down, I knew she was relived she didn't have to deal with me anymore. After I moved out, she only visited me twice never spending more than 2 hours, each visit. "Please don't go, what am I gonna do here without you?", my best friend, at the time, Paris said, "Leave all your dreams and stay with me. You'll stay at my dorm and I'll take care of you. You can write songs while I write thesis", she said jokingly. Looking back, I should've stayed with Paris.

At first we kept in touch, she'd call me every day. I'd tell her all about the people I'd met and if they were nice or not, she always wanted to know that. She was always so excited for me, always rooting for me. Somehow those calls started being less frequent. It was my own fault. "Hey Paris, I'm sorry I can't talk now, I have an interview with Teen Vogue", "Sorry Paris, I'm on my way to London, I'll call you when I land", "Paris, I'm busy", and then, I just stopped  taking her calls. With every achievement I got, she would contact me via social media to congratulate me. I never paid the messages any mind, but now I wish I had.

I walked around the neighbourhood a couple more times, it was quiet. I always loved that about it. Two hours later, I headed back to the penthouse. "Good evening Lisa, the food is in the oven. I'm heading out now", Monica, my housekeeper said, she was sweet. I've had her for 3 years, "Thanks Monica. Thank you for taking good care of me", I say. "Of course, you're worth it", she replied with a smile, softly stroking my cheek. This fills my heart.

I have my supper, stuffed chicken breasts and veggies. Took out a tub of vanilla ice cream out the freezer, watching an episode of Atypical on Netflix while I gobble it down. I've always loved ice cream. At 21:00, my alarm goes off. IT'S TIME, it reads. I take a handful of the pills with a bottle of wine. As I'm drifting off to what I hope is an eternal sleep, a text comes through my phone:

HEY, SAW YOU AROUND THE NEIGHBOURHOOD TODAY. YOU SEEMED TO BE DEEP IN THOUGHT SO I DIDN'T WANT TO DISTURB YOU. IT WAS SO GOOD SEEING YOU THOUGH. I HOPE WE CAN HAVE LUNCH AND TALK SOMETIME. TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF, OKAY?

PARIS.

I smile and doze off.