My throat is tight and I blink as tears form in my eyes. “I’m looking at you, Neena,” I insist, my heart cracking.
“This,” she motions at herself, “is not beautiful.” She dances her fingers under her sunken eyes, before dropping them to her lips, that no matter how much ChapStick she puts on, always seem dry and cracked. “This is . . .” she turns and stares at herself in the mirror, “this is ugly. This is me.”
“Neena . . .” Her name comes out as a desperate plea. I need her to see what I see. I need her to understand she’s the most beautiful person in the world to me and to so many people. Inside and out. She rubs the dark fuzz on her scalp. Her hair has just started to grow back. “I’m tired of looking ugly,” she whimpers. She stares at herself some more, her eyes red with tears.
I furrow my brows in concern. Maybe this is a classic teen moment. Or maybe it’s not. Maybe she’s depressed. Understandably so. Or maybe she’s sick. Sick and tired of what she’s going through. All I know is she’s in pain and her sadness is palpable. But her being ill is my first concern. Instead of responding verbally, I go into mother mode and within seconds have her head in my hands, my mouth to her forehead. She pulls free from me before I can really tell if she has a fever or not.
“I don’t have a fever,” she yells.
“I just wanted to check. You seem agitated. And you haven’t been feeling well. You’ve been in bed for two days now. If it’s not a fever . . . Maybe you’re depressed. We have a prescription—”
“I don’t need rest,” she groans loudly. “I need you to stop treating me like a baby!”
“Neena,” I gasp. “I just don’t like seeing you like this. So upset. Why are you so angry with me? I only want to help you.”
“Because you won’t just let me be sad! Every time I’m sad or angry you try to fix me. “Oh, Neena is upset, she must have a fever,” she mimics me. “Oh, Neena slept an extra hour, she must be depressed.”
“I’m trying to keep you as happy and healthy as I can. I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“Maybe I need to be sad, Mom.”
I step toward her, but she backs away. “The doctor gave us a prescription for antidepressants. Maybe they will help,” I offer, desperate to help her. Desperate to make her sadness and hurt go away.
“Normal people who aren’t dying have bad days. They sleep in sometimes. Maybe I just need to be sad and you just need to let me be sad and not try to fix me! I don’t need pills!”
Tears are streaming down my face. Where did this all come from? “I’m just trying . . .” I shake my head as I roll in to full-on crying. “I just hate to see you sad, baby.”
“Please, just get out of my room,” she requests, her eyes fixed on the floor.
My heart feels as if it’s just thunked to the floor. I want to hug her, somehow heal her, but it seems the more I try, the more upset she becomes. I decide it’s best to leave and give her some time to calm down. “Okay, sweetie,” I whisper with a husky voice. “I’m here, if you want to talk.” I hiccup back my sobs as I walk out and close the door behind me.
When I get home, Neena and Clara are both hiding in their rooms. Clara is curled up on her bed, balled up tissues surrounding her.
“What’s wrong?” I ask as I sit beside her and squeeze her leg.
She sniffles as she sits up and turns so she’s facing me. Her blue eyes are glossed over with tears, her nose red from rubbing. “Neena just had a breakdown, I guess.” She shakes her head. “I don’t know . . . she’s so sad and I just want to help, but she says I’m smothering her. So I’m giving her the space she asked for.” She stifles a sob. “I just want to take all of this from her, Paul. I want to be the one to carry that burden. She should be healthy and happy and living life to the fullest. She shouldn’t have to look at herself wishing she looked different for a boy,” she finishes.
“What?”
“I think that might be what spurred this,” she motioned her hand haphazardly, “her meltdown. I think she really likes Mills and he’s not interested. He could at least be her friend.”
My insides twist with anger. How dare he not like my daughter? Asshole. Of course he’s too old for her so if he would, I’d want to beat the crap out of him. But it doesn’t cost a damn thing to be friendly. Yet I’d balked at them being friendly. Shit. Mills is pretty much in a no-win situation here, when it comes to Neena. Poor guy.
“I’ll go and talk to her,” I tell her before pulling her toward me and kissing her forehead.
Clara sighs and flops back on the bed and returns to her previous position. “Good luck.”
When I knock on Neena’s door, she doesn’t answer, so I knock again. Louder this time.
“What?” she yells. My head rears back at her tone. I’ve never heard her sound so . . . annoyed.
“Uh . . . it’s Dad. Can I come in?”
“Now’s not a good time.”