Just Be

        "Just be..." I don't know when that phrase first popped up like that. I suppose it was when my fifteen year-old sister took me to a party at her concaine snorting friend's house for a party. She had simply said; "Just be witty, and they'll like you." She hadn't meant any harm to me, but it still felt like a punch in the gut. It was like my sister was saying I wasn't witty, or funny. From then on, whenever someone said "Just be" to me about something, my self esteem would drop. I would feel tears beginning to gather in my blue eyes, and I would want to lock myself in my room for days on end.

        I suppose that's how I ended up this way tonight, crying as my mom cut my birthday cake so me and my five friends could eat it and watch a movie. The tears slipped down my face, and I lost control of myself, and I began to bawl like a little baby. I'm still crying now as my friends try to comfort me, and pat my back, trying to sooth my tears. My mom has known about my depression for a long time and we have a special medication she;s supposed to give to me when I end up crying like this. I think she's trying to find it right now.

        My friend, Rose, grips my hand and looks at me worriedly, she opens her mouth and whispers something. "Come on, Gracie. Just be happy." That strikes a nerve, and I stop crying for a few seconds, my breath shaking, and I begin to cover my ears and start rocking back and forth. Even though my ears are covered, I can hear my friends talking worriedly.

        "Something set her off." A girl named Monica, who I've known since the first grade, says, a worried tone echoing through her words.

        Desi, the girl who taught me how to skateboard, starts murmuring to me quietly, telling me to stop being this way and to brighten up. After all it is my birthday, and I'm supposed to be a happy camper, ready to have fun and to be nice. But the tears keep comming, and my mom comes back into the room and gently tells my friends to go home.

        One by one, they all leave with worried looks on their faces. My mom takes my hand, and brushes the tears from my face. She takes out a pill and force feeds it to me. The tears slolwy stop, and I'm sent to bed, my body shaking and quivering from the large ammount of crying I've been doing. I take my jeans off and slip into bed, looking at the wall. My cat, Mara, jumps on the bed and curls up by my feet.

        My cat has not a thing to worry about. All she has to to is sleep the day away. A pampered princess. I begin to cry again, but this time, silently. I slowley slip off into sleep, and my day comes to an end.