She's had a terrible life. No, really. Her parents never loved her and she had no siblings to turn to. Her friends always moved away when she needed them most. She should be spending all her time feeling sorry for herself, and yet she somehow manages to smile. She never even talks about her past or her hardships. She just goes on making new friends and showing them her bright side, even though she knows in her heart that they will leave her in her darkest hour.
Sometimes I wonder why she even goes on living. I mean, she would never consider killing herself. No one should ever take it that far. But sometimes it just seems it should be difficult for her to get up in the morning. She should just stay in bed all day, every day, and slowly waste away. Death by attrition. That's what seems most beneficial to her. And yet, every day, she gets out of bed, even on those rare occasions when she is feeling a little sick or down, and prepares to face the day.
She walks through her lonely apartment with a soft smile that no one else can see. She brews her coffee and closes her eyes as the warm scent fills the air. She savors every taste because some days, this morning cup is the high light of her day. No one appreciates her at work, but yet she works hard. Her friends are usually too busy, but she always makes time for them. Her family never checks in to see how she's doing, but she sends them a card for every Christmas and birthday, expecting nothing in return.
She is truly exceptional, and the world does not appreciate it. She is full of the hope that things must get better because it is hard to imagine them getting any worse. She hears rain and immediately sees a rainbow. She tells herself the storm will clear, even though she knows it might be an eternity before it does.
Why does she see things in such a way? Why can't she just be a realist? Why can't the logical part of me make her see all she's missing? Maybe it's because she isn't missing a thing. She knows this all because I know it all, and yet she refuses to accept it as the way things must be. She is convinced a better day is coming, and so I am convinced as well.
But yet, day after day, she is afraid to face the reality of who and what she really is: just a person, lost and alone like the rest of us, hoping for something more, but not knowing if she'll ever find it. Her friends are a comfort for a while, but she knows she needs something more, something inside her that for all her optimism and hope is still somehow missing, and until she finds it, she can't really face who she truly is, who anyone truly is.
That is the true criticism I have for her: forcing herself to be happy without really having a reason why. There is no reason for her not to be happy, not really, because depression is just a waste of time, but there is no reason for true happiness either. And that is the reason that she, that I, cannot look at myself in the mirror anymore.
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