Justin, Joey, JC and Chris sat in the room that was being shared by Joey and Justin. The events of that night with Lance had shaken them to say the least. They had never suspected that Lance was going through something like this. Something this severe.
"He's having a breakdown." Chris stated, his voice hushed in the quiet room, afraid that speaking the words too loudly would bring a truth to them that he already knew was there.
"What do you mean?" Justin asked, shaking himself from his own thoughts of his ailing friend.
"We knew he was depressed. That much was obvious. But, can't you see it. His depression, coupled with the pressures that we all endure everyday, he reached his breaking point a long time ago, and none of us noticed." Chris said, his guilt at the missed emotional and mental state of his close friend, purely evident in his voice.
"What about the voice? What was he talking about, Chris?" Joey asked, his eyes showing his worry and concern for his best friend.
"Think about it. We all talk to ourselves. In our heads is the only place that we can get any sort of complete privacy, from the world as well as each other. And that little voice inside our heads that we talk with, as crazy as it sounds, has a different personality than our normal selves. I know that it sounds completely insane, but I also know that you all know what I'm talking about." Chris said, looking around the room. The remaining members looked at each other, nods of agreement passing around the room.
"Lance's problem, in my opinion, is that his little voice, the one he went to for private moments to himself, took on a very bad personality, due to his depression. From what he told us in his room, it makes him think he's not good enough. It makes him feel inadequate, and now he feels like he's losing his mind because he can't control it." Chris said, knowing that with each passing word, it was sounding more and more like Lance had gone insane. Chris also knew that it could happen. He knew that, with patients of depression, their inner voice could take on the persona of persons who degraded and belittled, feeding off of the person's already established fears and feelings, making even the most impossible seem possible.
"So, what do we do to help him?" JC spoke up from the far side of the room, where he had been quietly sitting, absorbing what was being said.
"Well, he's already agreed to see the therapist tomorrow. That's a great start, but beyond that, I don't know. I really just don't know." Chris said, shaking his head, wishing he knew more. Wishing he could do more.
~*~
Lance woke with a start. Clenching the sweat soaked sheets to his chest, he worked hard to smooth his breathing and slow his rapidly beating heart. Taking deep breaths, he proped himself up against the pillows on his large bed.
Lance ran a shaky hand through his hair, now plastered to his head with perspiration. He couldn't remember the dream, only the feelings of losing control, fear and frustration. He wasn't even sure that he wanted to remember it.
Once Lance had calmed his breathing, he reached over and turned on the lamp on the table beside his bed. The small light reflected off of the gold emblems embedded on the cover of the journal, written by someone else, who seemed to know his inner thoughts and feelings, while still able to write of love and passion.
Earlier in the day, when he had had a couple of hours to himself, Lance had taken that time to read through some of the journal that had been sent to him as someone else's release. In it, he had found poems of love, random thoughts of daily events. He'd found song lyrics, whose words held a different meaning in the written form than they did put to music. In the journal, he'd found songs that he and the group had sung, songs by country artists, rock artists, and other pop artists. There had been entries posing questions. Questions to which there are no answers. But most importantly, there had been feeling. A passion that can only come from a person's soul. What surprised him most was the fact that what came from this person's soul meant so much to him.
Fingering the small silver key around his neck, Lance reflected on the writings that he had read earlier in the day. He marveled at the comfort that a stranger's words could give him. The knowledge that he was not the only one who had felt the things, and thought the things that were written in the book, easing his mind and his fears more than even the soft touch of his mother's hand in his hair.
Lance looked at the beautiful book a few moments more before picking it up off of the small table. Opening it to a random page, and fingering the lettering, Lance read the words that he knew would bring him some comfort in this lonely night.
There are voices. Whispering. Taunting. Commanding.
Voices so soft, yet so demanding.
They caress your mind and flow in your soul.
They eat at you, and they take their toll.
They whisper incessantly, until all you can hear is their chatter.
So what if you gave into them? What would it matter?
Their voice seems to speak the truth, a truth that only you can hear
.
They speak to you so softly yet so loud, you believe that they are the only thing that's near.
But what is that other sound? That shouting?
You've listened to the voices so long, you forget the other sounds.
They call to you. They beg you, these other voices. The voices of reason
.
They plead with you to listen to them, to let them fill you empty seasons.
Now you're at an impasse, a fork in the road you could say.
Do you journey down that other path, or do you choose to stay.
Down one road is contentment, love, friends.
Down your current path, fear, pain, a nightmare that never ends.
Which road do you choose to take.
Can these shouting voices, you forsake?
Who do you listen to? Your foe, or your friends?
It's time for you to make a choice.
It's time to make amends.
Do you listen to the voice of pain?
Do you listen to the truer voice?
I ask you once again.
It's your decision to make.
It's time to give an answer.
Which road do you choose to take?
Lance thought about that for several minutes. It was time to make a decision. On the one hand, he could continue to live life as it was. He could continue with his pain and impending insanity. He could continue to let his depression rule his every breath.
On the other hand, he could take that other road. He could listen to the shouting voices of his friends. He could let their shouts and declarations of love and loyalty lead him down a happier, more contented path.
Analyzing both decisions, Lance knew the one that was the more appealing. He knew which one he, as well as anyone else, would want to take. But he also knew that that particular road would be a hard one to travel.
Dawn's words were right. He had been listening to himself, his voice, his depression for so long, he could barely hear those who truly cared about him. His depression had gained such a control over him, it would be hard to ignore. But luckily for him, he had four wonderful friends whose shouts of love and caring, could over power the other sinister voices. They would help him. He knew that to be true.
With a new found determination, Lance removed himself from his rumpled and sweat soaked bed. He was going to fight his demons, with the help of those who cared for him, and he was going to win.