It’s hard to remember how the adjectives just came and went. Delightful, complaisant, selfless, generous, considerate. How did the flawless girl not so long ago become the ruthless, selfish, phlegmatic cynic today? She doesn’t know.

People might as well think a heartless person wouldn’t care to know. But she does want to. And believe it or not, she does have a heart.

Perhaps it all started the first time she turned her little sister down. She never did that before, having tolerated her all along. But the spoiled little brat came to her once again demanding answers to her homework, and the irritation just lit up in her heart. Homework? Back when she was her age, she had to do everything on her own. Even her parents neglected her needs. How very, very irritating!

But she should have been glad that the word irritation even existed in her vocabulary then.

Little sisters!! Acting so innocent, so obviously tricking their parents who were just too stupid to realise! The new Miss Beloved, sweet little sister. And what had she done wrong to deserve to be treated like thin air?

Her irritations were so sharp, so intense and so specific too. A life she would much rather go back to than hanging the way she is now. But that’s quite impossible.

“Get lost. Ask dad.” She said, “Can’t you see that I’ve got a major exam coming up? How did I manage to get this far without a big sister doing everything for me?” She had so much to say.

The next day, she got yelled at for being mean.

Mean? Hell yeah, tell me about it.

But she compromised. Having done it several times, she got the clue, and never turned anyone down again. No matter how insanely busy she was, she never said no, because she couldn’t take all that hassle. The triumphant smile on her sister’s pretty little face first hit her as a frustration, but as time passed, the more frustrated she felt the less competitive she was, until one day that smile became something distant, blurry, something she could not understand, something she found ignorant and vulgar enough to sympathise with.

She felt like a saint. No one seemed to be able to understand her. She looked down at the morality of everyone, criticising silently. Talking seemed somewhat unnecessary – no one would listen, no one would hear.

And plus, she had so much to say that… she just couldn’t be asked to say anymore.

Her parents said she’d changed overnight, and wondered how this had happened. But deep down, she felt all the same. She rejected no one before, she rejected no one now. She just knew a little better now; a little too much, even. Her parents felt that the reason why she compromised wasn’t because she wanted to, but because she couldn’t be bothered to argue back, which was considered insulting.

Well, they were right about that. What was the point in talking when you’d just get yelled at in return? And why should she bother to feel humiliated by the triumph of her sister when there was no way of getting back?

Deep down, she knew it wasn’t real triumph; she knew that her own silence was a triumph in itself, and that was enough of getting back.

That evened things out.

Although, when she really thought about it, it seemed doubtful. Contradicting herself was something she did quite often. After all, triumphant or not, she was the depressed one. Everyone preferred her sister now. Everyone took the other side. It was a lose-lose situation. Or perhaps there was no other side? Perhaps she was the only odd one out? Even her so-called friends didn’t agree with her anymore. She felt lonely for once. More so among other people.

She soon got used to the loneliness – that feeling was bound to accompany throughout her life, she believed. She refused to go to parties, refused to make new friends, refused to sit with other people in class. Satisfaction filled her when people pointed at her, whispering; when conversations stopped at her presence as though she herself defined the term silence; and when her parents sighed in despair.

Occasionally looking back, she still felt like her old self. She never changed. She wanted friendship still; she wished she wasn’t so isolated in her own world. But what else could she do when the rest of the world was so filthy and clueless? They left her with no choice. She wished other people could see the world more like her.

Depression had become part of her life, and hell no, it wasn’t all on account of that little sister of hers. It was everything. Her natural opposition to everything.

It was like getting new glasses, having been short-sighted all her life. Everything became so unbearably clear that she detested the awareness. But she couldn’t take the glasses off because they were permanent.

It doesn’t make sense in words. Silent still, nor does she intend to explain.

People were talking about the books they read, and sometimes she listened, because she loved reading too. Only in books could she find herself. Oscar Wilde was by far her favourite, not that anyone ever talked about him at school. To them, the cheesier the better, chick lit in specific; they would talk about how much they cried at the end of the books. All that emotional crap.

Emotions were something that people like her wouldn’t understand. They said.

But she did. She understood them much more deeply that people wouldn’t notice her existence. She wasn’t phlegmatic, but those books… they just weren’t worth her tears.

They called her an emo. Quite frankly, she felt like an emo too.

But what did they know about emos? Dressing in black, covering their ugly faces with half their black hair, cutting themselves and groaning?

She bit her lips and gave up.

She felt more confident when she was away from the crowd. She would help strangers out; the good adjectives would momentarily come back, and she would feel that the world was back to normal again. She was still herself, she hadn’t changed; the adjectives had.

The more distant people were, the closer she felt to them. Maybe blurred images were closer to her idealistic illusion.

Sometimes she even smiled to them.

It was once again an impossible thing for her parents to understand. How could one be so nice to complete strangers when she wouldn’t say a word to her own family? The more they called her ruthless, the more convinced she became. Until one day, she shrugged and labelled herself ruthless too.

Big deal.

.oOo.

She’s sobbing.

She’s really on her own. How could she not have realised that before? ALONE! She had no one!

The tears feel cold against her cheeks, sliding silently down her face, down to the chin, then drop onto the ground. Clear, and silent.

She shuts her eyes, locking the tears in.

Depression is better off locked in.