To them

I hadn't seen you in a while. 8 years I think it had been. When you asked what I was up to and I told you I've had to stop working due to severe depression, you didn't ask more. You didn't even show you cared. You changed the subject and talked about the cute little girl in the room who'd had a long day and was tired.

In fact, you both did. You both seemed relieved not to have to talk about what I was going through. You laughed and chatted as though I'd said my life was grand, couldn't be better.

Your life is busy and full. Next year you're embarking on an expense-paid adventure in the Czech Republic, and you're looking forward to a change of scenery, to happy challenges ahead.

Meanwhile, I sit and listen in silence. My sciatica is painful, but I say nothing. I listen, nod, ask follow-up questions, and pretend to be interested, although subdued. My heart is heavy. I see you enjoying whatever is in front of you, and I am miserable by comparison.

But your existence is limited. You still live at home with your parents, you go to the same church you grew up in, you play the same hymns and recycle the same few offertories over and over - you told me tonight.

Maybe in the Czech Republic you'll find it within yourself to engage those who suffer. Maybe there, you'll suffer too. I know it's terrible to wish it on you, but I am jealous of you. My existence is limited too, but somehow my struggles have taught me empathy. Is that so proud of me to say? I don't feel proud. I feel weary of pain, weary of holding back the tears when there are so many to be shed.

I'm sorry I'm envious. I know it's wrong. I don't know what to do with all pressures in my own life, with the depression and anxiety and physical ailments. I know they could always be worse, my new sciatica case in point.

Your life, though, seems so easy. You think to do something and you do it. You decide to go to the Czech Republic, and it all works out for you. You want a Master's in linguistics? No problem. You got it.

While I languish with health problems at every turn, you flourish. Maybe next time I see you, if ever, you'll see and care that life for some is not as easy as it is for you. Maybe next time you won't have to: maybe I'll be better.