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I am sorry, I owe you guys a real post.  I’ve been kinda down lately (well, ‘kinda’ is relative, i suppose) and with that comes all the usual guilt.  “Everybody’s got their own shit, Kate; stop burdening others with your crap.  You don’t even have a reason to be depressed.  Nothing that has happened to you is as bad as what’s happened to somebody else, so quit whining.”  You know, the usual vicious downcycle.  Fed into by the fact that a couple people I know In real life have asked me not to write about it, actually.  They like my style, but not my actual content. 

And while I admit I haven’t been wandering much lately, originally I started this with the surefire knowledge that the only one I could actually count on to read this was me.  And I want to write about what i want to write about.  I want to write about robots and WOW and random things like that, but I also want to put some thoughts into words and start coming to terms with Who I Am and Why I am Here.

So, with that in mind, I’m staging a hostile takeover of my own blog.   I am going to write, and sometimes it’ll be weird and disjointed like the other day.  Sometimes, it’s going to be about depression.  Spoiler warning: I’ve had to deal with depression most of my life, so it’s going to be a pretty big part of this blog.  If you don’t want to read about it, I totally understand.  Come back when I write about robots. 

With that in mind, I want to tell you a story.  It is not about robots.  It is from my childhood.

I was 8 years old when we moved to Hesperia.  We lived in a two-bedroom apartment where the neighbor kids would torment us on a daily basis and we never saw Dad because he was always working.  It was not a good time.  Making friends at school was never easy, and I was lonely.  I suppose that’s what drew them to me. 

There was a gang of girls that always hung out together, and the day they asked me to join them was one of the happiest in my short life.  Finally, I had friends!  I spent every recess with them, every lunch.  I saved their place in line, I stuck up for them in class, I helped them with spelling, and they made me part of their world.  We were a “detective club”, we “investigated” things.  I didn’t notice how they mocked others with our investigations, like starting the rumor my brother was an alien so that we could investigate to see if it was true.

I volunteered to get information, of course.  He was my brother, after all.  So I hung out with him during a few lunches instead of them.  And then I met these other girls, who were kinda cool and liked some of the same stuff I did, and we all hung out for a bit.  And I didn’t notice that I didn’t spend as much time with the gang as i had been. 

They noticed, though.

I remember the day of the meeting clearly.  We were in a part of the school we didn’t normally go to, for privacy for our detective business, I thought.

“Katie, we’re concerned.  We haven’t been seeing you a lot lately.” 

“I was gathering information on my brother, like we talked about?  You know, for the case?”

“Oh, that?  We decided he was just doing it for attention, like you said he was.”

I didn’t remember saying that.  But I wasn’t one for arguing.

“Katie, we think you don’t want to be friends anymore.  We can’t hang out if you’re not going to be here.  SO you can’t hang out with us anymore.”

My heart stopped.  They were my friends; how could they think I didn’t want to be their friend when I was doing what they wanted?  I remember how sunny and quiet it was as I cried my eyes out.  I begged for another chance.  I would do anything they wanted, ” just don’t stop being my friend!  Please, You’re all I have!”

They discussed it briefly apart from me, and came back.  “Ok, you can still be our friend, but you have to come to every meeting from now on.  If you miss even one, we’re going to kick you out.”  Oh, I was so grateful.  I wasn’t going to lose my friends.  It meant not playing basketball with my brother and those other girls, but these were my friends.  They’d understand, right?

About a week later, we were all on the soccer field.  One of the girls was fighting with another one, so she quit the group.  I quit with her, to show my support.  We stood around declaring how much not a part of the group we were, until I must have got distracted or something, because there they were all together and I missed it.  But I didn’t miss the look on her face.  I knew exactly what that look meant.

“Kaaaaaaatie…..  We just had a meeeeeeting, and you weren’t there.”

I looked her straight in the eye.

“I know.  I quit, remember?”

I turned and walked away, and I didn’t look back.

_____________

It’s funny, I can’t remember a single one of their names. 

 

3 Comments

  1. You are your own person. And that’s what makes your blog your personal space. Don’t allow anyone to take this away from you. Writing about depression is a God-send to someone reading your stuff. Keep up the good writing. When you conquer your thinking habits, you will be a great writer, so write your heart out, girl.

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