Depressed and Distressed

If all my friends knew how depressed and distressed I am, they wouldn't tell me how depressed and distressed they are. Which is precisely why I don't tell them. There is enough crap in my life without their pity. I suppose my problems are rooted in physical symptoms, but as always, they end up in an emotional quagmire that is impossible to escape. I feel fine. Not normal, but fine. I'll live. But not everyone would. I guess.

So my emotions are, as always, wrapped up in another person. One who doesn't feel the same way I do and is frustratingly in the middle of everything. He refuses to be a jerk, but also refuses to love me. It's always in the middle. And I am always on the left. I keep thinking that my problems would be so much easier to handle if he were on one side or the other, and I have almost convinced myself that this is a fact. If he loved me, I would have someone who would be emotionally vested in things. If he were a jerk, I would have no second guesses, no qualms, no regrets, no pain.

He is as wonderful and caring and attentive as I could have ever dreamed. He keeps telling me I am not alone. But I am. Because I am the only one who is concerned with the love aspect of this life I'm stuck with. I am the only one wrestling with my feelings for the other person. I am the only one concerned that I am being selfish. That my decisions are irreversible. I feel completely alone because I love another person that doesn't love me back. And in this particular instance, that little detail means so much more than it ever did before.

I am afraid I will be abandoned because I abandoned first. I'm moving ahead to future weeks in which I lay in bed and cry over everything I've lost. Over being nothing and saying nothing and doing nothing. When I really am alone in every way a girl can possibly be alone. Abandoned, disheveled, depressed, and distressed.