Page 9 of The Chemistry Test

Penny

When I got back, I flopped straight into bed and fell asleep for two hours, waking only to take my pain medication.

Now, the room is almost pitch-black, so I grab my laptop from my bedside drawers to bring some light into the room.

My heart rate always skyrockets when I wake up, so it’ll be a while until it settles enough for me to get up again.

I check the date at the bottom of the screen.

It’s been a whole week since I last logged into my website.

I can’t remember the last time I left it this long.

Before I was diagnosed with EDS and POTS, things were seriously bad. I was in bed most of the time, too ill to get up, but I had no idea why I was ill or what I was ill with, and I was tired of my mystery illness being the centre of every conversation with my family and friends.

I started sharing my chronic illness journey on Instagram a couple of years in as an outlet and opportunity to share whatever answers I found along the way.

But despite it taking off more than I could’ve ever expected – with my followers far exceeding that of my peers within weeks – I realised that even with my new dazzle of supporters, I still found myself wishing I could talk about everything with someone.

Not a crowd. Or a (mini) mass following.

Just one person who wouldn’t get bored or judge me for it being all I talked about.

Someone distant enough to see the bigger picture, but without the rigidity and formality of a counsellor.

And while I didn’t find anyone who could be that person for me, I started to wonder if I could be that person for other people.

And so, two years ago, on a chilly Wednesday in October, my website Closer Than Yesterday was born.

A place where people could talk about whatever they wanted to talk about in a judgement-free zone, with the option to leave or change the conversation whenever they wanted to.

I knew I wouldn’t be able to fix everything (or probably anything ) , but if I could at least help one person feel a little bit closer to where they wanted to be, that would be enough.

While I was in the student support building earlier, I put up a poster for it there, so I’m kind of hoping I’ll have some new people to reply to.

I raise the head of my bed slightly and prop myself up on pillows, ready to get back into it.

I might’ve had my qualms about the bed to begin with, but actually the adjustable feature is turning out to be an absolute gamechanger.

I honestly don’t think I would’ve been so judgemental about it if I’d have known how helpful it would be.

And that, actually, simply not having something before doesn’t automatically mean that it wasn’t needed.

There’s a cheery chime as the page loads and I’m greeted with the Closer Than Yesterday banner I made, in a delicate, loopy font that looks like handwriting.

White daffodils bloom on either side of the banner, but the website itself is almost comically simple, with a sky-blue background and only one option in dark lettering: the option to send a message.

As I click through to my inbox, brightly coloured confetti briefly covers the page, signalling there’s at least one new message.

My heart does a little anticipatory skip.

I hate that it means someone is probably feeling down about something, but I still get excited at the prospect and privilege of trying to help them.

As the remaining petals of confetti fade away, I scroll my inbox, skimming through the usernames.

There are a few messages from repeat messagers, which are always pretty easy to reply to, but there’s also a message from a new person. The subject line catches my attention.

Trigger Warning: Depression and Loss of Purpose

Hi,

I know this is a place for advice, but I just wanted to check that it’s okay to talk about depression and stuff here. Please only reply if you feel like you can. I think it’s great what you’re doing, btw.

Sincerely,

A Not-so-happy Camper

(he/him)

This is a first for me. No one has ever asked for my consent to talk about something before and I’ve certainly never been given a trigger warning like this. I don’t feel like I need it, but it also feels nice to have a heads-up about what’s coming next. I voice-dictate a quick reply.

Hi Camper,

I’m really sorry to hear you’re having a rough time. Of course, you’re more than welcome to talk about whatever you want or need to here and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Keep hanging in there.

Cordially,

Someone Who Cares x

(she/her)

I say a mental prayer for the person before closing my laptop. It feels like the least I can do. Now that I’m feeling better, I swing my legs round to the side of the bed and sit for a minute, before making my way to the kitchen.

‘Summer of ’69’ is playing on Ro’s speakers, and he and Amy are standing by the counter, cooking together.

‘Penny!’ Amy grins, dancing over to me. She takes my hands and dances me over to the bench that’s closest to them. I don’t know whose idea it was to put benches around the tables instead of chairs, but I’m glad they did.

‘Do you like fajitas?’ she says, breathless from dancing. ‘And are you ready for Cheat, round two?’

‘Yes and yes!’ I say, picking up the cards that are still scattered on the table and stacking them back together in my hands. Of all the card games we played the night before, Cheat quickly became our favourite.

‘Oh, and we finally met the guys in the rooms next to mine!’ Ro says, chopping a red pepper.

‘Are they nice? Are they joining us tonight?’ I ask, excited to meet more people. Amy and Ro seem to falter when they see the look on my face. They pause for a second.

‘You explain,’ says Ro, tossing the peppers into the pan.

‘They seem nice,’ Amy says. ‘But they’re second years, so I think they’ve got their own friends here already.’

‘Second years?’ I say, surprised. ‘I didn’t realise they’d be put with us – or, I guess, that we’d be put with them, since they were here first.’

‘They don’t usually, but second and third years who have disabilities and stuff are allowed to stay on campus in the ground-floor flats if they want to.’ She does a half spin back to Ro, who’s busy adding seasoning to the sizzling pan. ‘What are their names again?’

He rests the spatula on the side. ‘So, in the room next to me, there’s Femi, who uses a rather dashing black carbon-fibre pattern walking stick. And then next to Amy, there’s Jake who ... doesn’t.’

Amy laughs. ‘Yeah, they really didn’t say a lot, so you haven’t missed much. They’re going to the international party at Euphoria tonight, but I don’t think we’re going to see them much in general, to be honest.’

A pang of jealousy and guilt sears through my chest, just for a second.

The campus nightclub, Euphoria, is technically accessible if you stay on the ground floor, but we’re doing so much in the daytime that I keep being too worn out to go.

I wish I could, more out of curiosity than anything else, but I’m grateful to have met people who will stay in with me instead.

So, we spend the next few hours eating fajitas and playing cards, just the three of us, until I start getting tired out again.

But my mind is still awake, and I don’t want to go to bed yet, so I lean against the wall, with my legs up on the bench.

Ro looks around the room, eyes resting on the sectional sofas.

‘What if we push the couches together and watch a film?’ he says, gesturing at the backless pieces.

They slide across the floor pretty easily, so while I set up the film on the table, Amy and Ro stack them together, creating a huge sofa bed in front of the window.

It feels a bit exposed, being on the ground floor without curtains or blinds (which must be some sort of safety regulation), but we try to ignore it as we snuggle down to watch Step Brothers , facing the other way.

We’re only a couple of minutes in, when a group of guys, clearly tipsy, shout in through the open window.

‘That’s a solid film choice if I ever did see one,’ shouts the one in the black bomber jacket. ‘It’s Step Brothers , isn’t it?’

Ro nods, opening the window a bit more. ‘You’re welcome to join if you want!’

And so they do. And so do the next group.

And the group after that, who all pass our flat on their way home.

Many are wrapped in flags, having just gotten back from the international party that Jake and Femi went to, and I can’t stop smiling at the bizarreness of it all.

Just a week ago, I was at home, dependent on my mum to leave the house, and now look where I am.

We put up Ro’s LED lights around the ceiling and everyone is so drunk that in the brief moments we’re watching it, the film is ten times funnier.

I rest my head on Amy’s shoulder, grinning from ear to ear.

I might not have made it to the party, but the party made it to me.