I wrote this from the inside of a bathroom stall.

Those who suffer from depression know what it means to be paralyzed by it.

It happened to me tonight. And in that paralytic state, I wrote something:

I leave my class at 10 o’clock and walk with a few classmates, discussing the pains associated with entering immense amounts of data into an Excel spreadsheet. We split off after a while, the two of them walking in one direction and me walking in another. I walk into the one commons space I was sure would be deserted at this time of night. I walk in and there are three people in the building: a redheaded boy that I seem to always see, waiting for a friend so that the two of them could study (I know because he does the same thing nearly every night), and two blonde girls quizzing each other on biology terms.

I keep my head down and stare at my shoes on the way to the bathroom. I find the smallest stall, just one to the right of the center. I walk in, close and lock the stall door, and set my backpack down. I stare at the toilet, thinking to myself, I don’t need to pee; what am I doing here? I also find myself thinking, In movies and TV shows where the new kid hides in the bathroom stalls during lunch, do they just sit down on the open toilet? Because these toilets don’t have lids. 

I clean off the seat and try to sit down. It’s not as comfortable as I would like, but it’s the best I can do. I think to myself for a while. I guess when you’re the new kid in school, you have bigger worries than whether or not the toilet has a lid…. As if wet pants could make a shitty day in a new school any better. 

I’m sitting here, alone in a bathroom stall, like a new kid. I feel like I’m forever doomed to be the new kid in my life. There are very few times when I sincerely feel like I fit into my life, where I belong in the role I’m playing. I feel like a red-shirt, an extra, a chorus member in my own life. And that’s really sad.

Somewhere between sitting down and now, I started crying. Not so disgustingly that my makeup starts bleeding or my face turns obnoxious shades of red. But just enough to wet the neckline of my blouse. Just enough to make tiny lines from the corners of my eyes to my chin. There isn’t a really strong emotion behind this. It’s not an oh my God, my life is over cry. Or an I hate the world and everyone in it cry. Or even a no one loves me at all cry. It’s just a cry. Just my body’s way of telling me that sometimes being happy is just too hard for it. That we just can’t do it today.

I should probably catch my shuttle now.

I guess today just isn’t my day, huh? Maybe tomorrow will be kinder.

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