Yesterday was a fairly normal day, minus the butterflies in the stomach for 12 hours and confessing being in love to a friend.
The rejection that followed also seemed fairly normal. If things had ended there, I would have called it a pretty good day. Got my feelings out, and now I can put them behind me. That is a good thing. And now we can just be friends–and that’s much better than the alternative of him freaking out and never talking to me again (I’ve had that response too.)
But C’s next question I had not anticipated: “Why is JL stealing my vicodin?”
My heart dropped. The magnitude of a migraine ripped my heart apart as I sat on a bar stool, looking at some ugly gray clouds heading in.
Major fight number four heading in with those clouds, at this rate we’ll soon average one a month.
I am tired of fighting. I was not looking forward to confronting JL, but I already knew it was true. JL broke down and confessed as soon as he was confronted. The look on his face when I asked said everything, as if it were Nagasaki, crumbling away with the blast.
“Is it over?” He asked, getting choked up.
“I don’t know what you want from me.”
I was too tired and just wanted to shower and go to bed, so that’s what I did.
I slept only 3 hours at most. I didn’t cry when I was C, but at some point in the middle of the night, I cried.
From a very young age. I struggled with depression. I remember being seven (if not earlier), taking my deceased grandmother’s lipstick out of a box in my closet and writing “I WANT TO DIE” over and over again on pieces of paper I stuffed under my mattress.
I was a lonely kid. Not many friends, often bullied for being fat, resented for being the intelligent kid who skipped a grade and was always the youngest in my class.
I was a lonely kid. Still am. Not many friends.
When I really wanted to die, I couldn’t go the razor route. Too messy, too obvious. In my mind, I should freeze to death in my sleep. I would close my bedroom door and leave open my giant window, then sleep without blankets. It got down to freezing at times in the desert, but not much below that.
The disappointment to wake to another sunrise, my parents clueless, exclaiming how freezing cold it is in my room and expressing that they have no idea how I can sleep in such a cold room.
Kids do the darnedest things. I guess I am still a kid, but where is my window now?