Saturday, February 12, 2005

Omnipotent, Omniscient, Omnivoyeur Fucker

Life sure is funny. Is it me or does the cosmos actually intervene in my life when I'm just full of complete and total crap?

See, I've been "depressed" for the last few days. I know people use this word lightly, and at the slightest hint of sadness use the term to describe their present condition to portray an overly dramatic state (cue tissue box and stress tabs). Well, that is how I'm using the word in this case. So anyway, back to my "depression."

I've been dealt with all sorts of blows lately. Financial, career-wise and family-related stuff. The year of the wooden cock has not been serving me well so far, and so I started the new year with this mind-set that things will get worse. And they have. Really. What could be worse than the absolute chaos on the outside (traffic, inflation, shitty people in the shitty city in the shitty country) complementing the chaos on the inside?

And so when you think that you're "depressed" and think you're entitled to wallow in your self-pity, here come the cosmos to slap you in the face.

See, I've a student who attempted to kill herself. Last Thursday she finally showed up in class after a month-long absence. "Hey, what happened to you? I thought you'd dropped my class." She handed me two folded sheets of paper. "Sorry Ma'am I was hospitalized." Valid excuse no? I usually take my students' word and so I made no attempt to read what I correctly assumed were the requisite medical certificate and excuse letter or whatnot. "So were you sick?" I handed her back the papers. "No Ma'am I overdosed on drugs." Oh. This should prove interesting, I thought. And so just before she could close her fingers on her letters I pulled them back. In big block letters:

"I'm seeing a psychiatrist." Oh. Good for you. I would have quizzed her more, but the rest of the eager-beavers were eavesdropping. She fits the profile really. Goth-girl, keeps to herself, dark clothes and dark make-up. Anti-social and listens to grungy, depressing music. I know because when I asked her to sing a little something to audition for a choral competition last year she sang this Tori Amos-ey number. "Weird" would be the mainstream description. But I like weird. I like weirdos. Maybe because I fancy myself to be one. Although I'm really not.

Because I couldn't properly talk to her in class, I e-mailed her yesterday:
It's probably not my place to say this, but I'll say it anyway. We all have our burdens to carry. Some are better able to cope than others but we all need the occasional helping hand. You are young, and as you get older the load will get heavier as more pressures, disappointments and responsibilities come. It doesn't sound too promising but you learn to roll with the punches. And somewhere down the line, you'll have learned what it means to be alive. Just give it time. Ok?
And right after I hit the send button the cosmos bitch-slapping kicked in. I could have been giving advice to myself. And I sort of was, because I and my student share the same name.

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