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I have this friend. Well, perhaps it’s a little inaccurate to call them a friend. They’re more like the hair elastic of friends — that ratty one you always wear around your wrist even though it’s always way too tight and clashes with all your outfits, but you can’t ever seem to remember to take it off.
So anyway, this exasperating acquaintance and I have a really interesting relationship. I can’t really remember where we met, or how. They just sort of appeared one day and then there they were, this integral part of my life that I never really asked for. It didn’t start off well, per se, but I guess it wasn’t always horrible either.
I’d let them come with me almost everywhere, and no one ever really noticed them. We took classes together, though sometimes they distracted me a bit from my assignments. We watched TV together, we drove together, sang together, wrote together, danced together, did everything together. And still, they kept mostly to themselves and never really bothered getting to know my other friends. But they were really starting to get to know me.
I remember one day – it must’ve been in the fall – I was walking home with them. We were listening to music together but they wanted to change the song. They put on something with a slow, steady, hopeless feel and we walked together towards my house. They slumped their heavy backpack onto my shoulders and I told them I didn’t feel so well. When I rounded the corner and started making my way up the front steps, they rested a steady hand on my shoulder and said we should wait outside awhile. So we sat together on the damp concrete steps, the cold burning through to my thighs. I looked out at the field in front of me, and then down at the ground. Out of the corner of my eye, I could feel their gaze hovering all around me. Other than that, I really didn’t feel much at all, and so we sat together on those steps feeling nothing for almost an hour.
After that, they got strangely possessive. Going out with other friends became a hassle, a struggle, where they always wanted to be the sole object of my attention. We fought a lot. I lost a lot. And yet, they always seemed to weasel their way back in.
One night, they convinced me to bring them to the bar with all of my other friends. While I painted my face, they nagged incessantly and tried to convince me to stay home. But I was determined — it was Friday after all. When we showed up to the party, all primed with promise and praise, they didn’t even say hello to anyone. They pulled up a chair and watched as I tried to feel, but each time we made eye contact, I couldn’t. At the bar, we sat together again, just like that day on the cold concrete steps, and watched everyone else dance around; it was like being a lowly spectator to a really fun and exciting episode on television. And I wanted to turn it off. I wanted to go home. I wanted to feel. So they came with me.
When we got home, my eyes were so tired of being closed curtains, so I let them open and then the tears were flowing. They didn’t try to help me or offer me a tissue. They just sat, like they always did, and told me that I deserved this. After I buried my head in the pillows, they decided to spend the night. Sure, they kept their distance, but I could feel them in the room, taking up space – space that was supposed to be mine.
The next morning my vision was hazy and my thoughts were unfocused. I didn’t want to watch TV, I didn’t want to drive, sing, write or talk – I didn’t want to do anything at all besides tell my roommates what was happening to me, but my friend convinced me not to; they said they wouldn’t understand our friendship. So I kept to myself for months, just like they did, and continued each day as a spectator.
Thankfully now, I hardly ever see them. The two of us aren’t really friends anymore, but then again, we never really were. In fact, my friend Depression stopped hanging around so much after I introduced them to a few of my real friends. Sure, they pass by me once and awhile. Sometimes they even manage to claw their way back in for a few days at a time. And every time that happens, there are still a couple of days where I can’t feel, where I don’t want to watch TV, or write a song, or go to class. But when you have someone there to back you up, it gets a heck of a lot more manageable. Someday, the only time I’ll ever see Depression is in a crowd, staring at me softly. And I can’t wait for that moment because then I’ll stare right back and tell them, JoJo style, to Get Out (leave), right now.