"I wish I had a river I could skate away on..."
I'm a complete whimp. I just can't keep myself from crying. Nothing I do takes away this isolation. All I do is work and try to busy myself to the point that I can't even think, but nothing makes it go away. God knows I try to forget, but everything around me feels cold and lifeless. Solace is as hard to find as a patch of grass at Royal. Everyday we shuffle in and out and out and in, but none of it matters.
What pisses me off most about this depression is that it's always sparked by small things. Today's incident wasn't exactly small in the general sense of the word, but in the long run it won't seem so important. I lost two of my binders today. They just freakin' disappeared and I have no idea where they could be. And I searched that school high and low for them; I checked all the classrooms I could've left them in, re-checked my locker and looked in the lost and found, and ran with my dad and my sister all over campus to search through the trash cans. The janitor on duty was nice enough to listen to my complaint and said he'd keep his eye out for them. You have to give the janitors a break because they're just people trying to get by. It kills me that they're treated like Untouchables. Anyway, none of the searching was to any avail. I found someone else's agenda book, which I plan to turn in, mind you. I don't understand what anyone would want with my algebra binder, but my guess is that the Universe is playing a cruel game with me. My homework packet is in that binder and it's due Monday since Mr. Dicus conveniently decided to wait 'til next week to collect the homework. Four nights of homework just gone. FUCK!
So it's stuff like this, a rude comment or a minor crisis, that send me into full unraveling. Everyone thinks I'm so strong and so energetic, but I feel weak and without even the slightest of gusto. Maybe I'm a better actor than I think, but I just don't understand where people get the idea that I have it together. For the last two nights, I've just taken to falling apart. And I only cry alone in the dark, because that's what die-hard depressives do. We cry over how alone we are and we only want to cry alone. Who wants to be with someone like me? I know that I wouldn't, honestly. I'd take one look at Dawn Marie in the dark and say, "Suck it up, you little twit! Life's a shitload harder than this. This isn't the real world. In the real world, they'd've eaten you buy now and you'd be nothing but a lump of their excrement!"
Oh, to sleep perchance to die! Whether t'is nobler in the mind to let the mind cave in now, or fight it until it crushes you anyway...t'is of no great matter, my life. I am a speck in God's milk. A germ in the petri dish of time. A ripple in the eternal pool. If I disappeared, the world and everything else would move on as if I were never hear. In time, even you'd forget me. But I can't forget you. No matter what I do, I can't make myself forget. I just miss you more than I can say.
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"No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use...
...Almost, at times, the Fool."
"I am no prophet-and here's no great matter."
--T.S. Eliot, "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock"