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Why is Everything You Write So Depressing?
I looked up from the book which I had been vigorously reading for the past hour and had forgotten that my boyfriend was in my room. He was sitting crisscrossed on my purple bed with my writer’s notebook in his hands.
I kept telling him that I didn’t want him to read what I write in that notebook but he insisted, saying that he is interested in what I spend my whole day doing bent over that notebook. I knew that he would be disappointed when he read it.
It took me a whole minute to process what he just asked earlier but I was so into my book that I didn’t catch it. “Sorry?” I asked as I doggy eared the corner of the page and close my book. I was sitting in the beanbag in the corner of my room and I looked over to him.
“Why can’t you write something happy? Everything you write is so sad and depressing.” He looks me in the eyes and I can see the sadness and disappointment that I was expecting when he had grabbed the notebook an hour ago.
“I did write something happy but it was terrible so it ended up crumpled up in the trash bin.” I said as I pointed over to the silver bin by my desk with many crumpled up “failures” overflowing it.
He shook his head at me, clearly disappointed by my inability to write to his expectations, “You know that’s not what I meant.” He sighs and runs his hands through his hair as he falls back onto my bed so that he is lying and down obviously getting more frustrated. I tilt my head back so it lies against the cool bean bag, “I’m sorry… I guess it’s just not that easy for me. I don’t know what else to tell you.”
“Tell me you’ll try harder, Carter. Tell me that you’ll quit it with this sad ----. I don’t care if you write sappy s***. ----, I don’t care what you write as long as it’s not sad. You’ve been doing so well, don’t let it stop and come crashing down.”
I sit up and look at him, startled by the speech he just gave me and enraged that he won’t understand what I’ve been trying to get him to understand for forever now. “You don’t get it do you? And I’m pretty sure now that you never will. This is not just a switch that I can turn off. I am hurt… I am full of hurt and too many emotions to keep track of and writing is the only way I can let them out. Otherwise I’ll just bottle them all up until I explode. I can’t stop. I need this and I need you. I need you and I need you to accept that this is who I am and if you cannot accept that then I don’t know what to tell you.”
He sits up abruptly, slams my writer’s notebook closed, and tosses onto the floor as he stands up. “I guess you’re right. I will never understand but you don’t understand either.” He starts pacing around my room and I stand up, confused about why he is so bothered.
“What do I not understand, Luke?” I lean against my closet door waiting for his answer.
“You don’t understand what I need, Carter. I need someone who I know I can understand and who I don’t need to worry about 24/7 and I am beginning to think that person isn’t you.” Luke grabs his jacket off of my desk chair and throws it on as he storms out of my room before I can even utter a single word. I am speechless.
I walk over to my bed and sit on the edge and throw my head into my hands. I sit and wait. I wait for Luke to come running back through my bedroom doors begging for me to forgive him. I wait for him to tell me that he loves me. And I wait for my happy ever after ending but it becomes clear that it is not coming any time soon. And hour passes by and I am lying on my bed, staring at my ceiling.
“He’s really gone.” I hear myself whisper to myself before it could even process through my head and that was how I knew it was true, that it was over. Forever.