I feel rotten
I gotta say, this is really very depressing. I often thought of Ash and wondered what he was up to. Now, I guess, I know. Last time I saw him we were about 22 years old and I was planning for grad school, and he was planning just to try to move out of New Orleans. It seems that he did, in fact, get out of NO, but I don't know anything about the quality of his new life after that.
It's just a freaking bummer, you know? It's not like he and I were close anymore but you just always think your friends are going to be around for as long as you are. And you know what? Mine don't have a tendency to do that. I'm looking at you, Samantha. Where the hell are you? You're supposed to be around, available at the end of a phone line when I need you. And you Jace, and Josh. Now Ash. And this, as those of you who know-me-know-me know, is only the short I-think-of-them-every-day list.
Not that I think I'm the only one who has friends who croak, but I am only 27 years old, and when I do dictate the long list, well, it's pretty darned long for someone my age.
Tom read some dumb MSN article that says that Louisiana is the worst place in the US to raise a kid or be a kid. I said, "Eh, a bunch of softies did that survey." But maybe there's something to it, some sort of effect that keeps after you for your whole life. Lizzie and I talk about the Bermuda Triangle effect of our hometown, and how fucked up it is there, that so many of us die, get killed, kill ourselves.
Why is it? When I was growing up there, I felt like a totally normal teenager--I think. I mean, I felt as normal as I think any chronically depressed teenager who made her first-and-only suicide attempt at 10 can feel. I mean, I thought I was normal and I'm still not sure I wasn't. Anyway. I didn't think it was a horrible place, except that I felt like Alexandria was a dull place. When I look back, I see that it's freaking crazy that Louisiana let us get our driver's licenses at 15 (back then) but I still think it was reasonable that we were allowed to drink at 18 (back then) for all the reasons you always hear people say, voting, dying in war, etc. Some people say the drinking is the problem. I don't know about that.
I think about Tiffany D. often, and that weirdo haunted look in her eyes at Jace's graveside last time I saw her about 6 months ago. She said to me in very plain language that the only thing that has kept her from killing herself for the past several years is that her son is only 5 and he will need her until he is a teenager. Tiffany, I swear to god, if you kill yourself next, I will kill you.
Anyway, the bottom line of this post, I guess, is that I'm depressed. Again. Well, always. I am a chronic depressive. (Side note:) It's funny, the only person who has ever met me and known me for only a few days before diagnosing me properly is our bizarro friend Jerry. Kudos, Jerrry. But I mean, I'm more depressed than usual. Christy, we'll have to talk. We can be bummed out together on the phone.
I gotta say, this is really very depressing. I often thought of Ash and wondered what he was up to. Now, I guess, I know. Last time I saw him we were about 22 years old and I was planning for grad school, and he was planning just to try to move out of New Orleans. It seems that he did, in fact, get out of NO, but I don't know anything about the quality of his new life after that.
It's just a freaking bummer, you know? It's not like he and I were close anymore but you just always think your friends are going to be around for as long as you are. And you know what? Mine don't have a tendency to do that. I'm looking at you, Samantha. Where the hell are you? You're supposed to be around, available at the end of a phone line when I need you. And you Jace, and Josh. Now Ash. And this, as those of you who know-me-know-me know, is only the short I-think-of-them-every-day list.
Not that I think I'm the only one who has friends who croak, but I am only 27 years old, and when I do dictate the long list, well, it's pretty darned long for someone my age.
Tom read some dumb MSN article that says that Louisiana is the worst place in the US to raise a kid or be a kid. I said, "Eh, a bunch of softies did that survey." But maybe there's something to it, some sort of effect that keeps after you for your whole life. Lizzie and I talk about the Bermuda Triangle effect of our hometown, and how fucked up it is there, that so many of us die, get killed, kill ourselves.
Why is it? When I was growing up there, I felt like a totally normal teenager--I think. I mean, I felt as normal as I think any chronically depressed teenager who made her first-and-only suicide attempt at 10 can feel. I mean, I thought I was normal and I'm still not sure I wasn't. Anyway. I didn't think it was a horrible place, except that I felt like Alexandria was a dull place. When I look back, I see that it's freaking crazy that Louisiana let us get our driver's licenses at 15 (back then) but I still think it was reasonable that we were allowed to drink at 18 (back then) for all the reasons you always hear people say, voting, dying in war, etc. Some people say the drinking is the problem. I don't know about that.
I think about Tiffany D. often, and that weirdo haunted look in her eyes at Jace's graveside last time I saw her about 6 months ago. She said to me in very plain language that the only thing that has kept her from killing herself for the past several years is that her son is only 5 and he will need her until he is a teenager. Tiffany, I swear to god, if you kill yourself next, I will kill you.
Anyway, the bottom line of this post, I guess, is that I'm depressed. Again. Well, always. I am a chronic depressive. (Side note:) It's funny, the only person who has ever met me and known me for only a few days before diagnosing me properly is our bizarro friend Jerry. Kudos, Jerrry. But I mean, I'm more depressed than usual. Christy, we'll have to talk. We can be bummed out together on the phone.
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