This is an old picture of me. I’m the one on the left. Yeah. Point. Laugh. Make fat jokes.
I was still in highschool. The people on the sofa with me are 3 of my closest cousins. The boy sitting right next to me is this guy. I have many fond memories of growing up with him, and its hard for me to believe that he’s in his 20s now.
I guess that makes me old.
I don’t know if you can tell from this picture, but my eyes are baggy and bloodshot. I had just found out that day that my first and only boyfriend to that point in my life was seeing another girl. I wasn’t even his FIRST. He was ENGAGED to this girl and cheating on her with me.
That was the guy I lost my virginity to.
Up until that point I’d merely been unhappy in the same way that every teenager is unhappy.
What makes this picture worth sharing is the fact that it was taken on the EXACT day that I began to suffer from depression, REAL depression and not just teenaged angst, for the first time.
Why am I telling you all of this?
Of all things, a shitty e-mail I sent in to SBR tonight got me all nostalgic, not so much when I wrote it, but when I heard Jeckles rushing thought it cause he didn’t care about it as much as the one where I said he does it for me.
Its my fault thought, I talked about Monica.
This is Monica:
She the one on the right in this picture. The girl on the left is alive and well and we still talk to this very day through the internet.
Or I should say that was Moncia. This is as close to Monica as I can get now.
She died in 2002, at the ripe old age of 23.
She was one of the last really great things I had in my life, and like everything she was taken away from me way too soon.
The day that picture of my cousins and me was taken was the day I became pessimistic. It was the day I quit caring for the world at large. It was the day that I started seeing my life as a series of losses.
They day Monica died, I spent hours on the phone talking to a man I had never met, a man she was living with at the time. This total stranger was the person who cracked my world in half, and he was the only person who had the slightest idea how bad I hurt, the only person who could offer me the least little bit of comfort.
The last good thing in my life had been taken away from me. And, like my virginity, its something I can never get back.
I don’t think my family ever liked Monica, except maybe one of my brothers and the male cousin in that first picture.
Fast forward 4 years to the present day and the heartbreak I felt in that picture has multiplied over and over. Added to it is the death of my grandmother, one of the aunts I held closest to my heart, and my best friend, and many other hurts, major and minor.
Yeah, I’m depressed. “Officially” depressed. Its much worse now than it was the day that pitcture of me was taken. Only I can’t afford the “happy pills” that so many people take for granted, so I sludge through my life in this depression while people are telling me to just get over it.
I'm sure there are some of you out there who know what is like to try to functuion like a normal human being when you dont even want to EXIST anymore.
My family, the people I should be able to turn to when I need comfort the most, tell me I’m not depressed. I’m “choosing” to remain unhappy because I want pitty.
All of that is old shit, but I’m still pissed off about it. Mainly because these people will never know the hurt that I know so they will always think I’m nothing more than a drama queen. Yeah, I’m over dramatic, but that doesn’t mean I feel it any less.
Choosing to be unhappy. If I ever did work up the nerve to kill myself (the only thing stopping me is the fear of the unknown after death. If I’m on my way to hell I don’t want to speed along the process, no matter how much I hurt in and hate this life) I bet they’d put that on my headstone. “Here lies YummY! She selfishly chose to be unhappy and overdramatically commited suicide.”
And trust me, I’d rather have true happiness than false pitty any day. I can’t have the happiness, so I’ll take the pity.
Oh, Monica died the year that my husband and I got married. I got married that January. She died that February. She knew I was engaged, but I never even got to tell her I had gotten married. She never got to tell me she was engaged. Her fiance told me that on the phone, the day he told me we didn't have her anymore.
So, how do you feel about THAT look into my life?
Are you depressed yet, or are you laughing at the drama queen begging for pitty?
It’s a bit you’ll probably hear again. Several times a year I start missing her badly. REALLY missing her. I usually try not to blog about it though.....thank god for small favors, right?
Posted by YummY! ::
9:33 PM ::
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