147: lou

yeah. i guess you can call it a fragile male ego. you can say that in a room with two, three dozen people in it, sure, because your words have meaning here. while i sit here, numb, chest taken by depression to the point where i’m wondering if i can get a gun easier and faster at a pawn shop than a gun shop, yes, you can tell me my sadness is a symptom of my fragility, and you would be right. because no one ever said that depression isn’t selfish. it’s very selfish. it steals a person from the world and cocoons them in their own self-doubt and numbness. it is in essence selfish, self-centered, and self-destructive. but here’s the thing, lauren: i know you. i know you well enough to know that you have these same issues. you’re just better at hiding them. so when you call me out for my “fragile male ego” do you want me to tell all these people about how when you’re sad you drink two bottles of wine and scream-sing in the bathtub for two hours? do you think every person at this restaurant deserves to learn about the weird high pitched girl voice you use when you’re talking about your depression? judging by your expression, no, nobody here does. and yet they all deserve to know about how my “ego” is so “fragile,” which, by the way, it’s not, lauren, I’m FUCKING DEPRESSED. i don’t have an ego to begin with. so fuck you and the fuck the horse you rode in on. [takes the plate of food] i’m taking this home and you’re paying for it.