Confessions of the Depressed    by Megan Jayaraj      Age 16   june 2004   March 2004

    "Who have I become?"
    I continued to push my right foot on the accelerator, "Where did all the happiness in
my life go," as I slammed on the break before the traffic light turned red. " I don’t remember
being like this before" as the a breeze cooled my face.
    It's a musky day, gray everything’s gray. Driving through a narrow way, I realize how dead everything is. Underneath the navy blue blazers, cocktail napkins and frosted champagne glasses lie this barren layer. How smoky is it, the fumes of gray rise, rise and rise only to fade away by the warmth of the sun. As Nick Carraway would say, " There is no point trying to judge others until you know them, so how do we judge ourselves, don’t we know ourselves?" as I resumed placing my foot back on the accelerator.
    Beep, pause, Beep goes the digital clock… "It’s one o clock, I’m going to be late."
    Falling behind, I’m always falling behind, I won’t make it, everyone is going to leave and I’m going to be left behind, I can’t be left behind anymore."
    Everything grows dark as I proceed into this tunnel of darkness. "Darkness, darkness looms before me and there is nothing I can do about, Isn’t this tunnel to end already?" Overdrive starts kicking in, the car veers a little but everything is okay. "hmm… maybe I am going crazy. Maybe I’m losing myself, maybe just maybe I’m as sane as I’ve ever been; craziness is only what people characterize you, people see what they want to see they see for what they think you should go."
    I pulled up at my destination, opened my car door, looked to see where I come but all I can see is a valley, a valley of gray, a valley of death, a valley of ashes.
      Email the author  

main / photos / jokes / stories / health / books / opinion / submissions / links / awards / e-mail to editor