i hope you see

ph: joshua whitelaw

She�s the only antidepressant to have ever worked, for however brief a time.

A life spent wallowing in self-loathing and bleeding wrists because it was the only thing I was good at. The only thing the bullies said I was good at. I was always on the outer at school, never truly engaged in the social aspect of life, just there to be a helping hand to friends by listening and helping solve their problems and be dubbed �a nice guy� whilst they went and flirted and laughed and gossiped and fulfilled their lives. I was never happy. I was oh so jealous of my better looking counterparts, how they had everything handed to them on shiny plates. I watched love flourish but never took part and I was green with envy. It was brutal watching what I want pass me by, but severe depression and chronic antidepressant consumption froze my tongue.

It was at university I learned of non-reciprocal love. I fell head over heels in love with the girl who is now one of my best friends. I loved her more than life but she resigned me to the friend zone and it stung more than anything. My face is still salted when I remember and I still feel the odd pang of jealousy when I see her kiss her boyfriend or watch her smile as his face greets her touch screen. I�ve had people tell me that we would have been perfect together and that I should have pursued her. I take this with appreciation and offence, which is a strange feeling to say the least. But I have stuffed my feelings for her down too far to ever want to see them again. I already hurt too much as it is.

Anyway, she arrived in a flurry of gorgeous red hair and pale skin and we awkwardly acknowledged one another, she too was at school but she was as shy as I was and thus we had never spoken. Quiet, reserved, petite and quirky, she spoke softly and gave nods to indie fashion. I congratulated her on her acceptance into university and she proposed that we catch up some time. No preconceptions or anticipations, I accepted.

The day we saw one another again in the corner of a quaint little caf� was the first time in my life I�d could ever truly say I was happy. Her life was wrought with struggle, self-hate and depression. Liberation washed over me and we bonded over our mutual traits. She was me. And I loved the view for the first time. We spent the rest of the afternoon chatting about a scarily large number of commonalities, tottering around campus talking about indie bands and cruelty and animal rights and blueberries. This will come off as stupid, childish and na�ve but I was in love with this girl, despite our short time together. I had forgotten the previous yet still fresh hurt of a love unconsummated and her voice funneled honey into my veins; everything she said made perfect sense, I could relate and didn�t have to posture to feel at ease. I left her with a warm smile, an exchanged phone number and a promise to meet again soon. We did, many times, chatting, empathising, trading mixtapes, laughing, professing our mutual feelings for one another, I fell asleep on her and listened to her quickening heartbeat; it screamed of a nascent relationship. Reciprocity was amazing. She gave incentive to what has otherwise been a pathetic existence and it validated all the hurt. I was fucking happy and I was for you.

A month or so later, she told me she was seeing someone who she is now in a relationship with. She said she really liked me but nothing could eventuate. It was as blunt as that. I cried and shook and vomited and bled into the basin. My stomach was in my chest and my heart was in my mouth. She told me she wasn�t entirely sure how she felt for him, yet flirts with him in a public forum. She tells me she still likes me a lot, and she also flirts with me still (of which she admits to doing). I don�t want to bury my love for her but I cannot deal with the awkward and ultimately unfair ambiguity anymore. I hope you see me whilst I�m still here. I love you.