My star (cont.)

began to fall. “I can’t hang out with you anymore. This is it. Just leave.”

I watched her, shocked by her words. “Selena,” I began.

“Go!” Selena shouted at me. The air around us was tinted with despair. Selena’s eyes were red from the crying. I waited a full minute for Selena to take it back. When she didn’t, I looked at the ground. Selena wanted me to leave. I didn’t understand why. I had only stated my opinion again. I didn’t understand anything about what had just happened, but I did what Selena said; I left, and I didn’t look back. Selena never followed me.


As I sit on my bed now, thinking about the day in eighth grade when Selena and I ended our friendship, I regret the way I used to think about depression. I switch to a different position on my bed. Now, I am lying flat on my back, looking up at the ceiling. The colors of the swirling whites and grays sit above my head. I remember what I had said to myself when I walked away from Selena that day. She’s delirious; I won’t change my mind. I won’t ever be affected by it. No one in my life has a reason to be sad, and they never will. What I hadn’t thought about was the possibility of me becoming depressed.

The End

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