This is the critical difference between me and my sister.
My 16 year old sister Alison was complaining that she was bored, that maybe she would run to Target, but oh it's 8pm and she has to wake up at 6am for school so she doesn't have enough time since she should probably get ready for bed soon.
Me: Don't you hate this life?
Her: I guess, but it's the only one I have so there's nothing I can really do about it.
Ladies and gentleman, the sole member of my family who will probably never need antidepressants.
Sitting in my childhood bed on my laptop I had one of those intense deja vu moments when that conversation occurred. Her life used to be my life. I remember those awkward hours between 7:30pm and 9:30pm when it's too early to go to sleep but too late to do anything else, so time disappears into the internet/shitty TV vortex, and finally you walk zombie-like to the bathroom and brush your teeth while staring into the mirror and making note of every imperfection and then crawl into bed and wake up to go to school and do it all over again. Nothing was new, every day was groundhog day. Our Dad has meetings most nights, our Stepmom invents things to do after work so that she returns just in time for a cigarette, a glass of wine and her heated mattress. My sister and I would eat Wawa sandwiches for dinner and watch MTV while my dog snored on the armchair. Nothing has changed, everything is all the same, and as my friend Mike relayed to me recently, even if *you* change -- if nothing and no one else does -- then does it even matter?
I think I'm having that "reverse culture shock" or whatever the fuck the NYU Study Abroad office letter called it. Or just my seasonal depression. (Lol like it's seasonal) I have a long list of stupid and simple tasks to complete such as make an appointment to get the Gardasil shot and call my therapist and have dinner with my step-grandfather and write an article that's due on the 10th and I can't get myself to do any of it because I am basically paralyzed by my own misery and self-pity. And you know how you're sad, and then you really hate yourself for being sad, and then you're even sadder that you have so much self-hatred? Kind of what I'm experiencing right now, and also stereotypical winter-and-teenager emotions such as "lost," "uninterested" and "that one where you feel like you will spend all the money you're supposed to spend on schoolbooks on a one-way plane ticket to some island with a name you can't pronounce." I used to get that feeling in high school a lot. As soon as my Dad gave me the emergency credit card I used to lay in bed fantasizing about charging a plane ticket to it -- usually to San Francisco -- and just figuring out everything once I got there. I am apparently not too old for those escapist dreams but now they are twinged with anxieties such as "But where would I sleep?" and "How could I sneak weed onto the plane?" So, see, I have changed, but allow me to reiterate: who the fuck cares? Who the fuck cares about anything anymore?