Wednesday, May 18, 2005
I am depressed.
It really doesn't matter what I'm doing, the world just feels like a big heavy blanket around me. Sure, there are moments when the sun shines just right and I remember how very glad I am to be alive, but truly I am getting very sick of this business.
I'm sick of feeling like I have lost everything that meant something to me. I am sick of being sick, and I'm sick of feeling like I won't get better until I'm not sad anymore. I'm sick of imagining the happy lives of people around me, and especially of imagining what could have been.
I am sick of not having anyone really be there for me. I'm sick of being blamed, sick of being teased, sick of being told to lighten up and liven up. I'm sick of having no friends.
I don't want to go to my own graduation. The whole thing feels so terrifically false. I don't feel like I've accomplished anything, and all I want is to be done with that godforsaken institution forever.
I'm sick of people who are intolerant and mean, and most of all I am sick of people who want a future without me. This, of course, is a category that includes just about everyone on the planet.
I am sick to death of being alone.
I saw this painting in a store today of a girl alone on a beach. It was in sepia tones, a kind of reddish brown that made it look very old, and the sand stretched for miles and the clouds filled the sky. I am that girl, truly. I am alone on the longest stretch of sand, the scenery so beautiful and yet so completely empty to me.
If I wake up feeling worse tomorrow, I don't know what I will do. I don't know how I will talk myself out of bed. I don't know how I've been getting out of bed at all for the past week. It's a real mystery.
The best that anyone can do is have a good time on my behalf. Go out and get drunk and make a toast to being happy. May it last you much, much longer than it has lasted me.