Jessica Sorensen - Tristan: Finding Hope

19 years old

I think Ive finally become invisible. That Ive somehow faded into a ghost just like I pretended to do when I was a kid. It was number two on my list of superpowers I wanted to have, right before X-ray visionmainly because I wished I could see through Tina Bellontes shirtand right after wishing how to fly. Im pretty sure the invisibility parts came true. X-ray vision got scratched off because I can see underneath womens shirts now pretty much whenever I feel like it. And flying well, Im fairly sure I know how to fly right now. I swear to God I do. I just need to get the balls to test the theory. Take the last step.

Tristan man, get down from there. Youre fucking tripping, Dylan calls out from three stories down where the bottom of the apartment reaches the concrete, proving that I might have been wrong about the invisibility because apparently he can see me. But then again, being seen by Dylan isnt that great of a thing. I wouldnt necessarily call him a friend, but probably as close as Ive ever got to having one. He doesnt talk much, doesnt ask me questions about my life, which I like. Although he is kind of a douche, but hey, arent we all at some point.

Leave me alone, I holler back, the night sky above me, so far away, yet when I reach my hand up, it feels like Im touching the stars.

Not until your dumb ass gets down, he shouts, then takes a swig of his beer.

I shake my head, cigarette resting between my lips, arms outstretched to my sides, the wind in my hair. One more step and my flying theory will be tested. No way. Not unless I jump. Its the only way.

To what?

To see if I can fly.

Dylan shakes his head. Not that shit again. Jesus, you do this every time you hit acid, man. He chucks the beer bottle out into the parking lot, annoyed.

Im not even that high anymore. Sadly, its the truth. Im up here of my own free will. Because I was sitting in a room full of people, laughing, drinking, doing drugs, and I was just there, existent, but nonexistent at the same time. Its been that way forever, me just living life in the shadows while everyone else seems to be in the sunlight.

Tristan, the last thing anyone needs here is for the police to show up because your dumb ass couldnt handle his high and decided to try and kill himself, Dylan says, getting really pissed off now.

Thats not what Im doing. I stare straight ahead at the trees across the street. Im not lying either. I dont have a death wish. Im just confused and trying to sort stuff out, trying to find a point to all of this. Life. It confuses the hell out of me. People, they confuse the hell out of me. Hell, I confuse the hell out of myself.

Ive been confused for years, the feeling only amplifying the day my parents found out my sister, Ryder, died in a car accident. A car accident where my cousin, Quinton, was driving and crashed into another carnot his fault, just a freak accident. My parents blame him for it though and have been focusing all their energy on making sure to hate him every single day of his life since it happened. Theyve been telling me to do the same, but Ive never been one to hold grudges. It takes too much energy that I dont have. So when Quinton called me up, asking for a place to crash this summer, I said okay without much hesitation. Granted I was fucking stoned out of my mind, but still, Im sure I would have done it sober too. Besides, from what Ive heard through the family grapevine, Quintons been paying for what happened through his own depressing, drug-induced life. So why should I add to his misery?

When I told my parents he was staying with me, though, I officially got shunned by the family. Ive been shunned by the family a total of nineteen times or so. Its nothing new. Being alone is nothing new. Im sure eventually theyll talk to me again and Ill let it all go, because thats what I do. Im not even sure why I care to have them in my life. Theyve barely acknowledged me ever since I turned sixteen and started getting into trouble, doing drugs for no other reason than I felt lost in life and alone and drugs temporarily filled that void. I couldnt find a purpose in anything. Couldnt find friends. But drugs numbed the confusion and made the people around me doing the same thing relatable enough that I could pretend I had friends. When Im stoned, Im not so alone, or at least I can see it that way.

This has been my life for the last few years. Getting stoned, drunk, trashed, and each time I got busted, my parents ignored me even more. I became more invisible. After Ryder died, it only got worse. She was the good one, according to them. And maybe she was. She did well in school while I wasted my intelligent mind. She didnt get arrested for being a minor under the influence and get put on probation. Didnt move out of the house to live in a shithole trailer park to deal drugs. And theyre right. She was the good one. Im the bad and I cant change it. I am who I am.

Im going to fucking do it this time, I yell to Dylan, taking a few massively deep breaths, psyching myself up as I inch my feet closer to the ledge. I swear I am. And just watch. Im going to make it.

Come down and Ill get Mallory to fuck you, he entices.

I dont want a pity fuck, I say. Ive had way too many of those.

Dylan shakes his head and then throws his arms in the air, exasperated. Fine. Do whatever the hell you want. Its your funeral. Then he storms off toward the entrance to the apartment, leaving me alone. Theres nothing stopping me from jumping off the ledge.

Just move your feet. Do it! Stop being such a pussy and fly.

I wonder if I fell off the roof, if anyone would see me. Or if maybe Id just fly away to the stars, never to be seen again. I could do it and find outI should do it and find out. But after standing there for what seems like hours, I realize its not going to happen and I step back.

Instead of flying for the night, I settle on climbing down from the roof and going back into the house to take another hit. I hang out with people who dont see me. Sleep with a girl who doesnt know my name. Then I pass out, knowing that when I wake up tomorrow, Ill do the whole thing over again. This is my life. There is no meaning. And I wonder if this is how itll always be. If Ill always feel so dead and disconnected inside. So alone.

So invisible.

4 years later

My life is one bumpy roller coaster. The last few years Ive been getting high, getting sober. High. Sober. High. Sober. Ive lost track of how many times Ive gotten clean. I want to say Ill never do it again, but Id be the biggest fucking liar on the planet. Ill probably do it again, because I struggle to find motivation not to do it and being sober just makes me focus on life. Youd think after spending years on a downward spiral, almost ODing, losing my sister, falling in love with a girlNova Reedwho ended up falling in love with my cousinQuintongetting hepatitis C and having to go through a bunch of treatment to get rid of it, that Id finally point the finger to the drugs and say that they must be doing this all to me. Sometimes I can see it, how fucked up I am on them, and so I try to stop. But I still always fall back to them, the pull too strong, the need to block out too great. Im an addict. Plain and simple.

Right now, Im supposed to be a builder. Ive been spending the last several months on the road working for Habitat for Humanity. Its actually more Quintons thing. Ever since he got sober, hes been all about helping the world. I think he thinks if he is always doing something good then itll make up for the accident, which maybe thats the case. And Im happy he found his sanctuary, the place that makes him feel whole without being jacked up on heroin and methamphetamine. I think Nova helps with that toohelps him stay clean.