Sunlight seeped through the window, casting shadows across my room and awakening me from my sleep. Not that I really was sleeping anyways.

After having such a difficult conversation with my parents the previous night, I’d found it very difficult to sleep. Excruciating, even.

The thoughts of everything had been swirling around my brain all night. Thankfully, though, after telling my parents, it did feel like a weight had been lifted from my chest and I didn’t have another panic attack.

I was, however, haunted by my father’s words. “What do you have?”

That one question bothered me all night. What caused my parents to think there was anything wrong with me? No. I corrected myself. Having mental health struggles doesn’t mean there is anything wrong with you at all, however I definitely knew I was fine. So what would make my parents think otherwise?

I turned my head towards the small clock on my bedside table, peeking my eyes open. It was just past 5am, and I groaned in frustration. It was early enough that I was going to be tired all day, but late enough that I wasn’t going to be able to go back to sleep again, despite only being able to scrape together about three hours that night.

Sitting up, I observed my room. There was a singular window that matched the one in the lounge, to the left of my bed, which was pressed against the wall. On the right was my bedside table, and next to that was a tall bookshelf that almost reached the ceiling.

Facing the foot of the bed was a sliding door with a mirror attached, leading to a small walk-in closet.

The entire thing was very mismatched, but I liked it that way. Slightly chaotic, very homely. It wasn’t a large space, but it was mine.

Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I decided that I may as well start my morning routine.

Being an only child came with its perks: a whole bathroom to myself. It was just outside my room, which was useful in times like these when it was early and my legs where fatigued with sleep.

I wouldn’t usually have a shower in the morning, but I felt like I would benefit from the cold water to wake me up properly.

Quickly, I locked the door, stripped from my clothes, and stepped under the cool water.

It was very soothing, feeling the waterfall like pressure roll down my back and soothe my sore muscles. I guess having a panic attack was very physically draining, because I hadn’t woken up this sore since I fell down the stairs last month.

I did the usual: wash my body, face, even brush my teeth.

Pulling on my school uniform, I thought about the day ahead. It would be the first time I’d seen my friends since my party, and to be honest, I was starting to feel a little bit nervous.

Because last night, I had a panic attack thinking about them, and then I’d shared their deepest secrets with my parents.

A feeling of guilt settled in my stomach and squirmed uncomfortably, and I had the sudden urge to tell my friends everything. Somehow, despite my snaking guilt, I knew that telling them everything would make it worse.

They would feel guilty themselves and blame their own struggles on my panic attack, then, after realising what I had done after, they would also feel hurt that I betrayed their trust – despite my most positive intentions – and probably wouldn’t trust me ever again. Not for a very long time, at the least.

I didn’t want that. The one and only time we’d argued, it had felt like hell. I didn’t want to go through that again, but most importantly, I didn’t want them to feel like they needed to distance themselves from me. They were my best friends, and I loved them deeply.

I tried to squash down the feeling and focused myself on getting ready.

“Breakfast!” Mum called, distracting me slightly.

“Coming!”

After buttoning my crisp white shirt and pulling on the grey pleated skirt, I rushed down the stairs was welcomed with the delicious smell of sizzled bacon and perfectly cooked egg. It something my mum liked to make me if she knew I was having a difficult time.

“Thank you,” I gushed appreciatively.

“No fuss, my darling,” She smiled. There was something about my mums smile that always made me know everything would be okay.

Especially when it wasn’t being faked. Even my mother’s expressions – carefully curated and controlled, kind of like my own – couldn’t be faked. In fact, my mum and dad where the only two people in the whole world who could see through the mask, and similarly I seemed to be the only one who could see through theirs.

Maybe it was a genetic thing. Or maybe we all had more monsters to hide then I thought we did.

Negative thoughts aside, the eggs really where delicious, and managed to distract me from the guilt that was growing steadily in my stomach. I’d told my parents my friends biggest secrets.

Maybe I wasn’t exactly in the best headspace – I had just had a panic attack after all and was feeling extremely emotionally and physically drained – but I’d still broken their trust. The trust that had taken several years to grow into what it was now: a tree which branches where strong, where they could place delicate flowers to bloom into something beautiful and safe. Tell me what they needed.

“How are you feeling today?” Dad asked as he walked into the dining room. I opened my mouth to speak, before he cut me off. “And don’t say fine.” Dang. What was I supposed to say now?

The truth. “A little bit guilty,” I admitted.

“And why’s that?” He asked as he sat across from me.

“Because I told you my friend’s deepest secrets. I feel like I betrayed them.”

“Maybe,” he said simply. “But you need to put you first sometimes.”

“What do you mean?” Obviously I knew what he meant, but I was confused as to what that had to do with my sense of guilt.

“You were feeling overwhelmed. Their mental health challenges aren’t a light thing that can be taken easily, and it was weighing on you. Sometimes you need to put yourself first and put that weight somewhere.”

How was I supposed to respond do that? I nodded, scooping eggs into my mouth.

“You can give us that weight, you know,” he said, as if my response wasn’t good enough.

“Then what are you supposed to do with it?” My eyebrows furrowed with worry.

“Your mother and I are adults,” he said simply. “We have much more life experience, and trust me when I say we have experience in this sort of field. We’re teachers, we see this all the time.”

“Well I know that, but… who do you give that too? I can give you my weight, but you can’t keep it yourself.”

“We know where to put it, to keep it safe, without it resting on our shoulders all the time. Although you have learnt so much in how to help your friends, your still learning how to take care of yourself. You don’t know where you can put that weight yet, so you need to give it to someone to look after.”

“Yes…?”

“And you can give it to us.”

“To look after?” I asked carefully.

“Exactly,” dad smiled.

“For how long?” I was playing into this metaphor now, but sometimes they made it easier to understand that way.

“Until you have somewhere to put it. Until you know what to do with it.”

“How long will that take?”

“However long it needs to.”

My heart swelled with gratitude. God I loved my parents.

“Thankyou,” I whispered.

“You know,” mum said as she sat at the table beside dad. “We’ll always be here for you. To support you or look after you. If you need to talk, we’ll listen. If you need a hug, we’ll hold you.”

That did it. Tears fell from my eyes again, but this time they were good. “I know,” I mumbled, my voice muffled by sobs. “I love you guys so much,” I gasped.

“We know, darling,” mum said. “Come here,” she smiled, knowing that these tears weren’t anything to fear.

I quickly scraped my chair back, and nestled between my parent’s, hugging one in each arm. They held me tightly, waiting for me to pull back.

“I should probably go to school now,” I laughed.

“Probably,” mum smiled that bright smile of hers. “But maybe,” she said cautiously, “you should be your face first.”

I tilted my head, seemingly confused. This time dad laughed. “Your face is very red, and you may or may not have bodily fluids that came from your nose all over your cheeks.”

I squawked in embarrassment and shuffled up the stairs, wiping my face and washing it thoroughly. “Thanks for the heads up!” I called down the stairs.

……………..

Once I’d gotten to school – it only takes about ten minutes to walk, as everything in my town is very close together – I looked around for my friends.

The guilt had settled slightly after my parent’s encouraging words; however it was definitely still there. It wasn’t going to go away, but I wasn’t going to acknowledge it either. It wasn’t allowed to be obvious, or my friends would notice. If my friends noticed, the truth would be out.

They couldn’t know that.

But now I knew that I didn’t break their trust. Breaking their trust would mean telling someone from school, or someone who would start rumours. Talking behind their back and laughing about their struggles. Being the cause of their panic attacks and nervous breakdowns.

I hadn’t broken their trust because I’d simply told my parents in order to look after myself. Something as heavy as this can’t be taken lightly, and now that my parents know, I’m sure they’ll help in their own way.

I could image dad searching up eating disorders on his break, and mum discreetly talking to the primary school counsellor for advice without name-dropping. The thought made me smile.

“Zoey!” Tommy called, Chloe and Jack short on his heels.

“Good morning,” I said cheerfully, making my way over to them.

“You’re old now,” Chloe giggled.

“I’m only sixteen,” I laughed back. I was the oldest in the group, but Chloe’s birthday was only about two months after mine.

“But you’re older than us. I think fifteen is still young enough for people to treat you like a baby, but now that you’re sixteen, everyone’s going to assume you’re doing drugs and go to parties to get drunk every night.”

Jackson visibly tensed at the mention of drugs and alcohol, but I was careful not to look at him. Still, I watched from my peripheral vision.

“Of course.” I made sure my tone didn’t change, so Chloe didn’t think she’d said something wrong. Technically she didn’t, she just hadn’t quite realised how sensitive of a topic that could be through her joking mood. It was a joking mood that didn’t come out often, and I was careful not to ruin it for her.

“But I have you guys,” I smiled. “I don’t need to go to parties and get drunk. I’m happy with our movie nights and over-competitive rounds of Uno.”

Jackson relaxed. Then I relaxed.

“Ahww, you sap,” Chloe said, smacking my arm playfully.

“Let’s head to roll call,” I chuckled, rolling my eyes with good spirit.

I grabbed Chloe’s hand, who grabbed Tom’s, who grabbed Jack’s, and we made our way to our 10A roll call like a human chain.

The day rolled around easily, each of my friends seemingly happy. Like usual, Chloe still withdrew from our conversation a bit as she watched her food, almost as if it might attack her. But I watched from the corner of my eye as she picked up a torn-up piece of sandwich and placed it in her mouth.

I automatically smiled. Today was better then yesterday, then.

Jackson seemed happy and wasn’t constantly pulling at his sleeves to cover every inch of his skin. Tommy was smiling like a happy fool, and Chloe was eating her lunch.

Everything was perfect.