Ready or Not

A short story about depression

She sat almost disturbed by her lack of enjoyment. Everything was dismal these days, from the way she viewed herself in the mirror to when she played her favorite games, they weren’t so favorite anymore. There must have been something in the air, she liked to blame. Something making her feel this way. She felt this way often now, and there was little that could sway her mood. 

She wasn’t exactly sad, just bored. Of everyone and everything.

Sometimes she cried, though she just didn’t know why. Maybe the book she had read had gotten too sad or hit too close to home, but it always felt like it was more than that, that is was something deeper.

She had gotten used to these days, spending them quietly alone. No friends she sat by at lunch, instead she’d sit all by her lonesome on the second floor of the school; no friends she’d hang out with after school, no one ever invited her to anything anyway; nobody that she enjoyed talking to anymore, just her and her thoughts these days.

But it always felt like there was something missing. Something she didn’t have that everyone else did. Perhaps it was the joy that she saw in their eyes sometimes, that would make their whole faces light up; perhaps it was their subtle happiness that they exuded that she just couldn't grasp; perhaps it was just the will to get up in the morning that she never remembered having. Whatever it was, it was obvious she lacked it to everyone around.

Why else would the biggest school dance be right around the corner and yet nobody had bothered to even ask her out of desperation. She may not have been the prettiest girl around but she wasn’t the ugliest, and while there may have been a light missing from her, and no crinkle of enjoyment around her eyes, she did crack jokes and laugh at other people’s (even if they weren’t funny). She tried her best to make everyone around her happy.

And maybe that’s where she went wrong.

Her life was going down the drain now, and her thoughts often taking her to dark places or fantasy lands, just trying to escape. But she did her best to slap on that smile, despite the joy she never felt, and take the day head on. She lived in the moment, and the moment behind, and the moment ahead, just so she could make sure that no conflicts ever arise. She didn’t like conflicts, didn’t know how to deal with them very well. All she knew was she wanted others to be happy, even if she could not and/or wouldn’t be. 

Everything was dull. From the way her hair flopped and her eyes gleamed, to the way her peers turned their backs and let her eat on the second floor alone, without trying to include her.

So maybe she was sad. Just a little. That it seemed like nobody cared. But what could she expect when the glued on smile looked so much like the real ones she used to wear so long ago. Besides, she never talked about it, told them what she really thought, what she really felt. So that was her fault too, because they couldn’t help what they did not know and she did not let them know anything.

Everything was boring, from the way the rain would slide down, the rain she used to love; to the books she used to fall into and lose herself and time in; to the shows she used to get giddy over; to the food she used to call life, everything was simply grey, bland, and ever so boring. But what could she do and this point? There was nobody to talk to, she’d pushed them all away, and there was nothing she wanted to say. She was tongue tied and out of talking practice.

And maybe she was lonely, letting people slip through her fingers, knowing her soul was a crowded subway train and watching them get on the next one that would happen to roll through town. But this was her fault too, for believing too strongly that if you love something, let it go, and if it loves you it will return. She believed too strongly in the careless, fickle minds and hearts of teenagers and she had been thrown away without a word, at least that’s how she felt. And that disgusted her, that she could be that negative when she considered herself an optimist.

So she sits disgusted with herself, finding tears prick at her eyes, for the games she used to love just weren’t the same.

Reviews

[Nolan Hitt]

You summed up my reaction to your story fairly well yourself, "Maybe the book she had read had gotten too sad or hit too close to home, but it always felt like it was more than that, that is was something deeper." This story touches so well on the blandness of depression; the feeling of lost meaning, yet certainty of its persistence. I found not only your words powerfully close to my own personal experiences, but this woman's reactions and motivations as well.
My one suggestion is that the story might be better suited with a new title. Ready or Not definitely hints at facets of depression, namely the one you allude to with the sentence, "She lived in the moment, and the moment behind, and the moment ahead, just so she could make sure that no conflicts ever arise." But your story seems to focus less on listlessness, and more on the outward or environmental aspects of depression.

[Psycho Project]

Thank you for reading and reviewing. I'm glad that I portrayed it well enough that you felt it. The title is just that depression hits you and overwhelms you whether you're ready or not, and there's not much you can do regardless of whatt state you're in.