A Time for Love

Day 2

The other thing you should know about me: I am a late bloomer. Pissing late. I thought that I was content to live my life in accordance to what the church says - to avoid temptation wherever possible.

Once you graduate high school, it can sometimes be that what you thought you were going to be as a sheltered teenager in your mom's house has no real sustainability for what challenges you would face beyond. We all paraded past our teachers, beaming with pride at what was ahead of us. Some of us reminisce on our experiences, and some of us can't wait to get the hell out of there. I was the later, til I woke the next morning with the haunting realization I had no clue what I was doing.

In college, I was determined to get my hands on as many drugs as possible. I decided to hide myself within a Psychology major. You know what "they" say about Psychology majors - that anyone with a desire to help people with mental health issues has their own issues that need addressing. Not true.

Psychology is a highly respectable position devoted to the study of mental illnesses and emotional intelligence. It should be included in the federal budget, taught in schools to adolescents, excuse me while I go puke for a second...

Anyway... they can't deny you the drugs when they spout out that crap: "Getting help is the first step," "Everyone is on antidepressants," etc.

I got the antidepressants. I wanted them from the first time I took a "What's your mental illness?" quiz on Quotetv and wondered why I wasn't like the other, more bubblier girls at school. I was eager for my mom to get her hands on them - something her New Age self denied her to do.

The pills made me feel good... really good! I started crying in the bathroom, so they gave me Zoloft. Then, when Zoloft no longer made me happy, they gave me Ambilify to "calm down my mood swings." I was fleeing pretty slutty, and eager to get over my boyfriend Jeremy.

So why, after four months of off and on one night stands, did I come back to Jeremy? I felt stupid for wanting Steve. He was someone who could talk between my love of Margaret Thatcher and his "Bernie Sanders" socialism. We were meant to be together. I was panting and ready for him while he tied me up and, after my confession of love, broke my jaw. Things got pretty quiet after that.

Then, after I moved home in a fit of depression, I saw he had gotten together with a Chinese girlfriend who dyed her hair platinum blonde, and posted selfies of them eating together on Instagram.

You can imagine the surprise I had when I finally got to move in with my best friend Callie from high school, only to realize the girl I was telling her about was her best friend from college. Callie didn't know that Amber's boyfriend was THAT Steve, nor did she know that I was constantly Instagram-stalking them both. Amber didn't know who I was because Steve was determined not to tell her.

There was also the question of the video he took of us banging each other on his couch that went viral (without my consent). That video is having more success than my music.

I love songwriting, but I desire to make it as a singer. I'm already behind because I chose to go to college, be like everyone else, and get a "respectable major, not one of those damn liberal arts degrees."

I either make it big or go home to Indianapolis, get a janitorial job, and forget this whole spectacle as my cousins around me love on their husbands, celebrate their kids, and bring casseroles while they analyze me on my mental health and lack of happiness in life.

Tonight, I choose vodka.