Sorry, guys, ramble time.
Sometimes I wish that I weren’t me. I don’t really have friends. I have people that I talk to, sure. People that I help with homework, people I joke with, even people I spend time with in class and in Moulton. But these people aren’t my friends. When they invite me over for “baking parties”, I respectfully decline. Not because I don’t like them, I just don’t want to spend time with people. I don’t want to be with people, but at the same time, I’m lonely. It really just makes no sense. It’s almost as if I’m too lonely to be with people.
I love being able to go for days without anyone saying a word to me, but at the same time I wish they would. I’d like to think that if I just packed up and left for a week, someone would notice. But would they?
I’m being 100% honest when I say that if I thought my car could take it, I would get in and drive. Like that one night. But this time I wouldn’t stop. I would get on I-80 and just drive west. I can afford it. I’ve done the research, I know where it’s safe to stop and sleep, and places I can shower along the way. We had a plan a few summers ago, my sister and I. We never got to it, and now she’s engaged and we’ll never do anything fun together again.
Is this what my life is meant to be? Studying, doing homework, writing essays, getting internships, doing research… those last few things excite me, but it’s not what I want in life. I don’t want to be a physicist who analyzes the world around her in gory detail, but I don’t want to be a suburban mom who goes to church every Sunday either. I don’t know what I want. I just don’t.
Five years ago, I went through such a state of depression that I could hardly function. I skipped school, I didn’t do homework, I missed softball games, I don’t really know how to describe it to anyone, myself included. I didn’t feel sad. I didn’t cry more than usual, or randomly scream at people. I just… I couldn’t do anything. It incapacitated me. I remember thinking it would never leave. Even after all of the therapy sessions and the countless parental speeches, I figured I would just always be like that. I’m glad to say that I’m not. I’m not like that anymore. But I’ve always been scared, because I know that if I became depressed again, I couldn’t BS my way through it like I did in high school. I’d need to leave school. It’s not an emotional thing. It’s not something you can fix by just “thinking on the bright side”. It takes you over. It’s no less real than a broken arm or a chipped tooth.
I guess that’s the end of my ramblings for the night. Blah blah blabbity blah.