An Intervention
Do you have any idea how stupid what you just pulled was?
You don’t, do you?
You’ve been so oblivious to how I’ve felt all summer that you’ve completely missed the fact that I’ve been depressed and suicidal.
So under those circumstances, of course it seemed like a good idea to gang up on my and tell me how much I hurt your feelings one time. No matter that I’ve been pissed at you all summer. No matter that I have to be completely outraged by what you did in order to keep myself from going absolutely insane with depression.
And of course you don’t care that I had a hard time breathing as I was driving home because I’ve been deserted, again, by my friends.
No matter that I am so sick of being treated this way, that it makes me violently ill. No matter that this is what I’ve had happen with every friend I’ve ever had.
No matter that, goddamit, you actually have the power to make me weep.
No matter that it’s not the first time. No matter that I’ve done it more this summer than in the rest of my life.
No matter that my life has completely fallen apart. That everything I thought I wanted has slipped through my grasp and I’ve forced myself to believe that I didn’t really want it.
No matter that I hate This Goddamn Fucking Place and that the only thing that’s kept me going at times is the fact that I knew you cared. That I knew you would miss me.
But, go ahead, be mad at me, because I hurt your fucking feelings.
You wouldn’t know feelings if I wrote them all in poems and had you read them. I know, because I tried that and you remained completely oblivious. And though with slightly different circumstances, it was all fucking three of you.
But, Andrea you’ve been so busy with your family and getting ready for school, I shouldn’t have bothered you.
And Jen, you haven’t known me that long and we’re not that close and you don’t know me that well, so I shouldn’t have bothered you.
And Beth, we’re not that close either and half the time you don’t even like me, so I shouldn’t have bothered you.
I should throw myself in fucking traffic. Would that get your attention? You might even get the chance to go shopping for a new outfit. I’m not sure how much black you have in your closet.
You know what I think my favorite part was? How Beth and Jen wouldn’t look me in the eye, wouldn’t even look at me.
I should have left with the hot guy.
I should have left ten minutes before I did, when you brought the subject up.
Until you’re ready to talk about it, instead of ambush me, I’m not sure I’ve got anything else to say.
You really don’t want the gloves to come off. I’ve warned you I’m a horrible person and you haven’t believed me, and you have no fucking idea how bad it will get if I decide to bite back.
And don’t think of this as an empty threat. I don’t make them.
God, why do I never see this coming? I’m so tired of playing these fucking games.
Let me try and explain how this works:
I AM LIVING WITH MY PARENTS.
Do you have any idea how much I hate even talking to them? Talking about them? You think living with them is easy?
I know at least one of you knows how bad I have it. And the others I’m certain can guess.
A requirement of living with my parents is forcing myself to be a social person. I would be much happier never seeing them. Hence why I enjoyed living on my own. It was quite nice to suddenly realize that I hadn’t talked in three days. Not to anyone, not even to myself.
But that doesn’t work at home. My parents wouldn’t put up with it. And for the moment, I don’t have anywhere else to go.
So I must comply.
Now, as I am a social creature at home, I must be a social creature elsewhere. If I get any sense of relief (with the exception of writing, because I can justify that as “work”), I won’t be able to take what I’ve be come.
That’s why I bug Dan, at work, every time he passes the laundry room. That is why I’ve tried so hard to get together with you this summer.
But none of it really matters. What’s the point in going over it? It’s not like you’re listening. You haven’t yet, why bother starting now.
I am going out of my FUCKING MIND!
But God forbid I cross some personal boundaries.
I am so fucking tired of letting things go because it’s easier than explaining things to people.
Well, now I’m explaining them. And I’m not letting them go till you bother to actually listen.
Be as pissed at me as you want. Never call me again for all I fucking care. It’s not like you were that great at it before.
You want to reach out, feel free. I’m not ending our friendships; I’m not washing my hands of you.
I am just sick of making all the effort. So now I’m not. I’m exhausted and heart sore and I just don’t fucking care.
You don’t, do you?
You’ve been so oblivious to how I’ve felt all summer that you’ve completely missed the fact that I’ve been depressed and suicidal.
So under those circumstances, of course it seemed like a good idea to gang up on my and tell me how much I hurt your feelings one time. No matter that I’ve been pissed at you all summer. No matter that I have to be completely outraged by what you did in order to keep myself from going absolutely insane with depression.
And of course you don’t care that I had a hard time breathing as I was driving home because I’ve been deserted, again, by my friends.
No matter that I am so sick of being treated this way, that it makes me violently ill. No matter that this is what I’ve had happen with every friend I’ve ever had.
No matter that, goddamit, you actually have the power to make me weep.
No matter that it’s not the first time. No matter that I’ve done it more this summer than in the rest of my life.
No matter that my life has completely fallen apart. That everything I thought I wanted has slipped through my grasp and I’ve forced myself to believe that I didn’t really want it.
No matter that I hate This Goddamn Fucking Place and that the only thing that’s kept me going at times is the fact that I knew you cared. That I knew you would miss me.
But, go ahead, be mad at me, because I hurt your fucking feelings.
You wouldn’t know feelings if I wrote them all in poems and had you read them. I know, because I tried that and you remained completely oblivious. And though with slightly different circumstances, it was all fucking three of you.
But, Andrea you’ve been so busy with your family and getting ready for school, I shouldn’t have bothered you.
And Jen, you haven’t known me that long and we’re not that close and you don’t know me that well, so I shouldn’t have bothered you.
And Beth, we’re not that close either and half the time you don’t even like me, so I shouldn’t have bothered you.
I should throw myself in fucking traffic. Would that get your attention? You might even get the chance to go shopping for a new outfit. I’m not sure how much black you have in your closet.
You know what I think my favorite part was? How Beth and Jen wouldn’t look me in the eye, wouldn’t even look at me.
I should have left with the hot guy.
I should have left ten minutes before I did, when you brought the subject up.
Until you’re ready to talk about it, instead of ambush me, I’m not sure I’ve got anything else to say.
You really don’t want the gloves to come off. I’ve warned you I’m a horrible person and you haven’t believed me, and you have no fucking idea how bad it will get if I decide to bite back.
And don’t think of this as an empty threat. I don’t make them.
God, why do I never see this coming? I’m so tired of playing these fucking games.
Let me try and explain how this works:
I AM LIVING WITH MY PARENTS.
Do you have any idea how much I hate even talking to them? Talking about them? You think living with them is easy?
I know at least one of you knows how bad I have it. And the others I’m certain can guess.
A requirement of living with my parents is forcing myself to be a social person. I would be much happier never seeing them. Hence why I enjoyed living on my own. It was quite nice to suddenly realize that I hadn’t talked in three days. Not to anyone, not even to myself.
But that doesn’t work at home. My parents wouldn’t put up with it. And for the moment, I don’t have anywhere else to go.
So I must comply.
Now, as I am a social creature at home, I must be a social creature elsewhere. If I get any sense of relief (with the exception of writing, because I can justify that as “work”), I won’t be able to take what I’ve be come.
That’s why I bug Dan, at work, every time he passes the laundry room. That is why I’ve tried so hard to get together with you this summer.
But none of it really matters. What’s the point in going over it? It’s not like you’re listening. You haven’t yet, why bother starting now.
I am going out of my FUCKING MIND!
But God forbid I cross some personal boundaries.
I am so fucking tired of letting things go because it’s easier than explaining things to people.
Well, now I’m explaining them. And I’m not letting them go till you bother to actually listen.
Be as pissed at me as you want. Never call me again for all I fucking care. It’s not like you were that great at it before.
You want to reach out, feel free. I’m not ending our friendships; I’m not washing my hands of you.
I am just sick of making all the effort. So now I’m not. I’m exhausted and heart sore and I just don’t fucking care.
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