I don’t want to give you the impression that I’m dissatisfied, or that I’m depressed, or that I’m a schizophrenic. It’s just there are days that I just don’t want to do anything. I don’t want to go anywhere, don’t want to eat, or sleep, or talk. I just want to sit and think, maybe stare off into space and daydream.
I read all these books and articles about how so many people spend their lives building a façade of happiness; how so many people are hurting on the inside and just don’t have anyone to confide in. I wonder if I am one of those people because when I get sad, I just don’t know what to say. There are people that I do turn to when I need it, but there are so many others to whom I have turned before, but now wouldn’t dream of it. I feel like I’ve been let down by so many “friends”; I’m just too tired to try sometimes.
Am I justified in my mistrust? Do I have the right to be so depressed and keep it inside?
Here’s the thing, though: even though I do get sad, I can forget it when I read or when I play the piano, or when I sleep; it goes away. Maybe that’s classified as ignoring my problems; maybe it’s just getting over them.
When I was in tenth grade I took a class on public speaking. We actually discussed some psychology stuff, and in one instance, we did a visualization test. The teacher told us to picture ourselves walking on a road. We then saw a wall. The placement of the wall in your vision supposedly told you how you dealt with problems. Some people sat on the wall, others ran through it. I remember picturing myself walking on a road, seeing a wall from a few feet away, and walking on by. This meant that I ignored my problems.
But really, what’s to ignore? If I’m sad because I’m convinced that I will never find my soul mate, what’s the use of dwelling on that problem? Who benefits from my moping about my loneliness? No one is better off because I can’t stop thinking about how there is no one whose hair I can run my fingers through. There’s no one whose eyes pull me in; there’s no one whose fingers touch mine and make my stomach do flips and turns and impossible bends. I don’t call any boys on the phone, and there’s no one that tells me I look pretty. I know I’m young, but I think I know loneliness. At any rate, I know self-doubt, and that can be a pretty depressing thought in itself.
This is ridiculous. I know it is. Why in the world should I be depressed about my lack of a husband? I have so long to just experience life. I have so much to be thankful for: my sight and hearing and limbs; ice cream and chocolate and skim milk with ice; new crayons and fresh notebook paper and gummy erasers; my friends and my family and God.
Don’t get me wrong- I love life. I love living and awakening and sleeping and breathing; I suck the marrow out of life when I can, and I try to appreciate everyone and every day. It’s just . . . . there are times that I am sad. I’m afraid this is one of them.
I’m sorry you had to listen to my ramblings. They didn’t do much good for anyone, did they? See, I keep it in, but there’s no reason to push it on anyone else. Goodnight.
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