Throughout life I have found few things to be immune to change- the inevitability of pain, and the human ability to push through. This I found about three years ago, after I had beaten another bout of depression. I had finally gotten myself together, and hoped naively for everything to become better from there. I had thought myself immune to life’s pain. After all, I had just faced life on the verge of suicide, staring death in the face. I had beaten my inner demons, exorcised them from my life. Little did I know of my vulnerabilities.

Life passed by, things were going well. School went by like a breeze. I had moved to a different school, away from the jeers of those whom had haunted me before, and I felt as if life went better than I had ever experienced it before. For once, I had a shot at ‘normality’.

Then, the universal weakness of men came along. I met her at church, a pale, skinny redhead who actually seemed to like me. She radiated perfection, in every way. Her touch made me feel hot and cold at the same time. She and I spent a lot of time together, and despite my parents wishes, we allowed a romantic relationship to form. Or maybe it was just me, allowing myself to get attached while I allowed her  to lead me on. I will never know. I exposed my very soul to her, telling her the things I wouldn’t even let God Himself know. She became my closest, and one of my only friends. During that time, life was perfect. For once, I felt someone actually cared, that there was someone who could actually… love me.

One day she didn’t come to church, where we usually met at the youth group. No biggie, I thought. Then the next Wednesday came and went, and the next. I caught wind of others tearfully telling of some special ‘goodbye’ they had received from her.

I fell apart. Once more, darkness consumed me in a way that still tears at me to this day. Once more, I had been abandoned without so much as a ‘bye’. She had never told me, never said a word. She was simply...gone. For a long time I blamed myself, blamed her, blamed my parents, blamed everything. I had found that my life held no meaning, no longer worth living, but only my fear of death kept me remotely non-suicidal. Things from there went downhill, and I struggled to understand why.

A year ago, during the homecoming parade, I participated in a march for the Marine Corps JROTC. I stood, waiting for my orders, when someone caught my eye. There she stood, that beautiful angel, having a merry time with some guys. My soul despaired at the sight of her. I wanted to leave, but I wanted her to see me. I was torn completely. I had to stay and wait for orders, but I wanted to run to her and ask why she had left me like that. I wanted to fight the guys she was with. They were disgusting lowlifes who touched her in ways that made my blood boil, and my stomach churn. That alone doubled the pain inside, and left a bitter taste in my mouth. How could she choose those abusive perverts when I stood right there, someone who could never mistreat her? When she finally saw me, I asked “Do you remember me?”

She shook her head, replied with a simple “No,” and walked away. I haven’t seen her since. From that day, I found the world’s unfairness, that life was just like wading through a storm of mahogany wasps. My only solace came in discovering the only way to survive was to just move on.