Fairy Tale for the Clinically Depressed

1 02 2016

There once was a girl who wished she was dead.

Her friend invited her to a birthday party. She told jokes that made everybody laugh. They played musical chairs and everything was fine

but at the end of the party, she wished she was dead.

She met a boy who took her to the seaside. They walked along the boardwalk and admired the waves. They ate cotton candy and fed the gulls. She smiled and laughed, and nothing seemed wrong

but the end of the night, she wished she was dead.

She went to college and got lots of A’s. She edited the newspaper and talked about poetry. Anyone would have said her life was perfect

but she ended most days wishing she was dead.

She worked hard at a job that led to a career. She purchased a house and bought stuff at Ikea. She started dating someone she really liked. If it wasn’t love, it was near enough

but when she lay next to him in bed, she wished was dead.

When the wishing turned into planning, she threw her life into turmoil. Quit her job. Broke up. Moved countries. For a while, she got ahead of it

but eventually, she started wishing she was dead again.

She met a man who turned off her brain, who knew how she felt and knew how to stop it. When she was with him, she wanted to live, to see him smile and hear him talk. She never wanted to be anywhere else. She never wanted to be doing anything else. And she certainly never thought about how nice, how nice it would be to slit open her wrists like a sealed envelope and pull out the contents.

She thought about his eyes and his voice, his arms and his lips, his kisses and his cock, and they seemed like good reasons to live.

Then he took her aside, and told her he wanted parts of her, but not others. Her words but not her lips, her company but not her body, her mind but not her fantasies.

And he began to act like half of her was invisible, or not good enough, or uncomfortable for him to see. And all the while his eyes said to her, “I love you, but not all of you.”

He confirmed. That. Some part of her. Had always. Been. Wrong.


Isn’t it funny? Isn’t it a laugh?  He granted her wish and he killed her. Just like that. As easy as taking off a hat. 


And for ever after, for the rest of her days, she lived a bit dead.




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