The Parts of Her

They're staring down at me with that look saturated in pity. Pity for me, pity for themselves, pity for the world in general.

I stare back at them, but make no move to communicate. Whether I am unable to, or simply cannot motivate myself to try, not even I know. But it does not matter. This is our norm, this has been our norm, this will probably always be our norm.

We are simply three individuals pushed together by forces completely out of our control.

Notice my choice of the word individuals, instead of people. You see, people are connected; people share experiences; people care about one another. We three are individuals. Destined to be together, while at the same time completely alone.

While I lay here completely alone in my crowded room I reflect on all the moments that brought us to this point. A million tiny, seemingly inconsequential moments that when examined closely have culminated to a tragic end.

Could this have been avoided? Do we really have any control over what happens in our lives, or is the Calvinist theory really on to something?

It is unlikely that anyone will ever hear my story, but I am starting to hope at least one person does. Maybe it is just my human desire to be important, remembered that has invoked this need to share myself. But no matter where the need came from, it is here. Maybe someone will listen.

**I want to add that I am in no way claiming to be an expert in all people's experiences with depression. This is just one work of fiction and in no way relates to, or is trying to delegitimization anyone else's truth or experience.