Dumber Than Dumb!

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I did the stupidest thing today.

I checked out some photos of my high school: graduating year’s
– 25th School Reunion,
held in December 2012.

I saw a whole heap of photos of smiling people.
Some were successful.
Some were good looking.
Some were ‘well fit’
Most looked really happy.

I did a quick search engine stalk on one of the faces.

A guy I have secretly had a crush on for 30 years.
Something I haven’t even told my High School BFF.

He only got married two years ago.

Now,
the intelligent section of my brain

– although smaller than contained in an average person’s skull –

kept commenting,
that ALL the smiles in the photos cannot have been real.

Although a happy occasion,
not everyone who attended the Reunion
would have exclusively happy tales to tell.

But that didn’t matter.

All I could see were
people from my past
who had created lives that included
love & children & careers & joyful memories.

All of which they shared with others of the same ilk
at one big event.

An event I deliberately chose NOT to attend.

Why?

Because I am a pathetic 43 year old woman
(single, childless, aimless, penniless & hopeless)
who toddles along unhappily,
pretending for all who see me that I am the opposite,
trying desperately to find some sort of happiness
in everyday miracles

– like clouds & stars & flowers & chocolate –

because god knows that
if I looked at anything too seriously or meaningfully
I would surely ‘top myself’.

Who stays on this Earth,
without any real desire or need to live
except that
I promised my beloved Nephew H
that I would never leave him a legacy of suicide
especially as his Mum’s Mother
&
his Mum’s twin Brother
had both played the suicide ‘card’.

The former unsuccessfully on three occasions,
the latter on one successful occasion.

‘Cause that’s a good enough reason to stay alive isn’t it?

For someone else?!?

Max & Me

Max & Me, just now

.

.

.

I KNOW that this is my illness ‘talking’
but it doesn’t detract from the fact that I AM,
in fact,
a total dumbarse for looking at the photos
and becoming depressed about
what masquerades as
my life.

.

.

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