Breathing is a simple pleasure that isn’t appreciated enough. I acknowledge that I'm breathing at least eight times a day, maybe more, sometimes less but usually eight. I love the way my chest heaves when I take notice of it or how my breathing becomes slower, calmer. That is often times how I slip into my own world, and it’s a peace of mind. My mind is my favorite place, and I like to pretend that breathing is the secret code that opens my mind and lets me in.

Inside my mind, a lot of things take place, but the thing I concentrate on most is the man I talk to while I’m there. I named him Winter when I was in the eighth grade. He’s the reason I’m so fond of myself and being alone. I’m aware he doesn’t exist, but at the time, I didn’t like myself, so it was easier to talk to a guy in my head rather than myself. He never left, even after I got better — probably because I only got worse after that, but he didn’t leave for that either. He never leaves, if he was real he probably would, but he isn’t.

I usually avoid thoughts like that. I hate when things like that pop into my head because I can’t help but fixate on them when I need to filter it out. That’s kind of part of Winter’s job, filtering stuff out, and I like to think that Winter is my Jiminy Cricket. When I feel my mind overthinking, I shut my eyes and picture Winter reassuring me that in 10 years I won’t remember what it is worrying me, so I shouldn’t worry about it now.

Nobody knows about Winter nor do I ever plan on telling anyone he exists. You see, I firmly believe that secrets are the most important parts of you, but I also believe nobody can be trusted. These are two concepts that go hand and hand — just don’t tell anyone anything, and you’re set for life. Look at it this way: everybody leaves, and if you give them your secrets, they take the most important parts of you with them.

I didn’t always think like this. When I was younger, I adored life. I loved the world and everybody in it. I was the type of person that gave trust and took it away when betrayed. Trust now is like an old lover to me — a name that grabs my attention when said but only to be disappointed when I remember the history. I trust Winter, but I feel like trust is a loose term when I’m technically talking about myself. I wouldn’t identify as lonely, and I know Winter doesn’t count as company, but I’d say you have to be sad to be lonely. I’m not. I’m very complacent by myself.

What Winter and I do now is avoid reality. I’m 17, and I want nothing more than to be 12 and naive again. Being naive is a blessing, and I get tired of parents trying to get their kids to grow up at a certain rate because that isn’t for them to decide. The thing about being naive and growing up is that when you're young, you're happy because happiness is effortlessly attained. As you get older though, it’s not that easy because you can’t just be happy, you have to actively remind yourself to try to be happy so you don’t slip into some kind of depression. Maybe that’s just me, though. If I’m not trying to be happy, I automatically slip into a funk that I can’t shake for months. I don’t really understand why this happens, I get so tired of trying all the time and think maybe I’m back at a stage in my life where I don’t have to anymore. Then I stop trying and every feeling I’ve been running from for however long starts piling up.

I make it seem like if I keep trying I don’t have to feel this way, but I believe these waves of sadness I go through are inevitable. I can’t avoid slipping, I can really try, but it’s unavoidable. Catching myself isn’t an option — I’m just gonna hit the floor, whether I like it or not. The best way I can explain this to someone who has never felt it is comparing it to love. Like love, there is no stopping it — no slowing down. It just happens quick, and sometimes, you don’t even know it till the feelings just all rush over you at once, knocking you off your feet and making you feel like there is some kind of poison in the air that makes you lightheaded. And even though it takes your breath away, you keep gulping it in because it consumes you, and you can’t get enough. The consequences mean nothing when you’re in this deep.

To an extent, we fall in love the same way we slip into sadness. Falling is inevitable, and slipping is unavoidable. The feelings feel different, but they all occur in the same way and hit you in the same places. I cheat sadness a lot by trying to occupy my brain with so much that there isn't room for it, but in simplest terms, sadness is my reoccurring lover.

This is why I need Winter. I get in too deep with my thoughts, and the overthinking scares me. He is my distraction in these moments, reassuring me everything will be fine, and sometimes, I almost believe him. This particular time though has been different. It’s been harder to find distractions, and therefore, I’ve been feeling this way a lot more often. We haven’t been able to connect like we use to, and I know why it’s just hard to admit when your entire being is trying to deny it.

I take a deep breath. This is the fifth time today I've noticed it.

“Jack, Jack wake up, Jaaaack!”

His eyes flutter open, all boyish, “I'm busy,” he grunts, turning over on his side.

Jack Copper is my best friend. Even though I love being alone in my own head, it's not particularly healthy, and even I can admit that. He is the only person I like enough to be with outside of school. He’s a typical guy, but never outgrew his troublesome boy years. What makes me so content with him though is that he has the option to be with anyone he wants, even his own girlfriend gets action, yet he chooses me. Nobody else chooses me.

“Jack, could you please come up here and talk to me? I'm getting real lonely.”

He just glared up at me. “Why don't you just get drunk and talk to yourself like you usually do? You just use me for liquor.”

He wasn't lying. I did use him for alcohol, and as awful as it is, I might not hang out with him as much if he didn't have a fake. But he does have one, so why do we even look at the if's if they aren't relevant? Jack’s not usually butt hurt all the time, and I don't want anyone thinking he is. He’s just got his panties in a twist because I won't go to our last prom with him. It's not him, though, I just don't plan on going. He knows that though he’s just being complicated. Guys are so complicated no matter what they say. Like you'd think he wouldn't even want to go.

Oh, and get this, Jack has a girlfriend.

“Annabelle knows you're not asking her to prom yet?”

He sighs “No, cause I guess I'm gonna have to now that you aren't going.” He spoke as if it was normal to go to prom with someone besides your girlfriend. Boys are so moronic, and society wonders why girls are starting to like each other — I mean look at our options.

I couldn’t bring myself to be with a girl even if she was a celebrity. Boys may be complicated and f*cking annoying, but girls are emotional, and I already got myself to worry about so I don’t need any other emotional baggage. I guess this is why I only hang out with Jack. He doesn’t really have any problems, and if he does, I’m not the one he talks to. I haven’t been with anyone but Jack for the past two years. The last time I hung out with someone else it was actually this girl I met up North named Sofia, and she was a trip, I’ll tell ya. She talked a lot like an adult, but without all the judgemental bullsh*t. We spent the whole summer of 8th grade together. She stayed at her grandma's who was just down the street from mine, so we were together just about every day. That was the first time I considered myself to have a “best friend.” I still write to her, but my grandma died though that following year so I haven’t been able to see her since. I’m going to see her soon, though.

“Jack if you're just gonna sit there and pout the whole time, we might as well just leave.”

He shrugs. “So be it.” He gets up and starts walking away.

I don't know what his problem is.

“Alright, have fun.”

He keeps walking, which isn’t typical. Usually, he turns around and comes back when he sees he’s not making any of a point. He’ll turn around and come back within the next couple of minutes whenever he realizes he’s being dramatic. I’m just gonna sit up in this tree 'till he does. I don’t know who he thinks he is talking to me like that. He’s the only reason I stay around this damn place, I don’t so much as care to stay now that I know Jack doesn’t even seem to like me.

I get down after a while and start to walk towards his truck. If his truck isn’t there, I am never talking to him again, I’ll tell you that much. It takes me a little while to walk over there, but once I do, I see that he is still there just like I expected.

“Why did you leave me out there if you were just gonna wait for me in your truck?”

“Well, maybe I wasn’t going to wait for you.”

“Why are you acting like this? You have no reason to! It’s just prom and I don’t want to go, and I don’t even see why you want to go! You aren't even interested in things like that! You’re just looking for things to be irritated about for no good reason.”

“I do have a good reason.”

“Oh, really? Lay it on me. I’m excited what could be such a good reason as to why you insult me, then ditch me like you don’t even — ”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were planning on leaving?”

Oh, sh*t. He did have a reason to be mad. A very valid reason. I didn’t even have a response; I usually need time to come up with excuses for arguments like these. I don’t have anything to defend myself with, but I’m also not apologizing. I don’t know what he expected. Did he think I was going to stay here my whole life, and I don’t know, end up with him or something? Because that definitely was never going to happen.

“How do you even know that?”

“I don’t know; it was invasive, I’ll admit. But you have been writing her so much more often recently, and I was curious.”

“Curiosity killed the cat.”

“When are you leaving?”

“Tonight.

“Were you ever gonna tell me?”

“I may have written you once I got there.” That was a lie.

“Can I come with…”

“No.”

I started gathering my things and getting out of his car. I didn’t have time for his emotional spiel. I had packing to do and also had to find a way to the bus stop now that I couldn’t trick Jack into driving me there. I opened the door to his truck and hopped out.

“I’ll write you once I get there.” That was another lie.

“Don’t bother. You care about nobody but yourself and Vivian Sue, and I’m happy that you’re leaving! I am the only person who has ever shown you any type of sympathy.”

I calmly shut the door, and he drove off in a rush. He needed to get that out of his system. I knew in the next hour he’d be driving to the bus stop hoping I’d still be there waiting for him. I won’t be, though. By then, I’ll be heading up North. Sofia and I have been writing a lot because she had found us good jobs being waitresses and good pay too. I couldn’t have thought of a better time to leave. There isn’t much of a future here for me. There is a big future for me up there, though.

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Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All resemblance to actual people, places, things, or incidents is purely coincidental.