The Lies I Never Told You

1

          I don't like being a Debbie downer. In fact, I hate it when anyone calls me that. I think most people poke fun at depressing thoughts because they feel weird asking if you are okay. But how hard can it possibly be to say "Hey, are you doing okay?" Have we become the most shallow people alive?

          Maybe we are all too invested in ourselves. More importantly, how we look. We buy clothes left and right trying to give off a cool, hot, sexy, or even a "Look at me, I'm rich" look when no one actually cares about that in reality.

          Today a classmate of mine, Esther, decided that calling me a Debbie downer was funny and that I am saying depressing things to be funny. When I made a "What the fuck are you talking about?" look, she quickly got quiet and looked like she didn't know what to say, so she awkwardly laughed it off and decided to scoot further away from me.

          Acting like I didn't see her move away, I focused back on the lecture on concrete and why not to add too much water to it. Unconsciously, I started biting my nails and waited until class was over to run out. After class, I decided to get some lunch from the main dining hall but was only disappointed by the shitty options they gave us. Salad without seasoning and burnt vegetables with chicken. Yum, am I right?

          Turning back around, I walk out and choose to head back to my dorm. I listen to a few songs before I stop walking when I spot nightmare numbers two and three waiting at the traffic light to cross.

          Why do I call them nightmares two and three? Let me give you some context, nightmare number two is best friends with number one. Or as I like to call her, my ex-roommate Marie. I met Marie last year during my first year at college. We got along pretty well I thought until she became weird and started treating me like complete shit.

          I used to play it off as me making stuff up, but I was right. Eventually, both Marie and her best friend Dalainey (nightmare number two) decided that making comments about the weight around me and attacking me for not being the smallest I have been, was a brilliant idea. I was a sobbing mess that entire weekend. I knew no one at the time so I stayed in, crying and sleeping my weekend away.

          All I could think was that they didn't know me or why I looked the way I did. They didn't know what I lost.

          Gulping, I look down and try to look busy while waiting for them to cross the road and be on their jolly way back to their dorm room. Five minutes felt like forever, and finally, I was able to walk to the light and wait. Thinking about a few assignments I would need to finish tonight, I start feeling that stiff sensation. Stress.

          Once I am finally behind the safe walls of my room, I use the restroom before changing into some pajamas and taking a quick nap. When I wake up I set up my computer so I can have some white noise in the background and start studying. The minute my alarm goes off, I close my notebooks, turn off my computer and get ready for a shower.

          After my shower, I feel how hungry I am and walk to the small dining hall. Grabbing a sad excuse of a sandwich, I walk back to my dorm and throw out the sandwich before getting an apple, and a glass of water. Sitting at the window, I put some music on and look outside as the sun slowly goes down.

          Finishing up my apple, I look at the time and decide I can still watch a show or two before I need to be up tomorrow at 8 a.m.

          Getting into bed again, I set my alarm for tomorrow and make a game plan of what I would wear before snuggling under the covers with my stuffed bear, and letting my shows lull me to sleep.

           In the morning, I feel the urge to use the restroom and wake up almost immediately. After using the bathroom I wash my teeth and face before drinking some water and getting ready for the day.