My Boyfriend's Depression

The Boyfriend is depressed more often than I am. He so often feels horrible that it takes a big bite out of my energy to try and keep him above the waves, and to keep assuring him, even though most of the problems he has are just branches of everything I myself am insecure about. How he describes it is that he thinks too hard. He'll be happy, and then he starts thinking, and thinking, and thinking, and all the thinking makes him depressed. The incessant thinking is what I like most about him, though. Doesn't he know how refreshing it is to have a boyfriend in real life who is not constantly saying, "Dude, that's deep."

I'm now thinking about all those boyfriends I used to have, who were all just somehow lacking when it came to their intellect.

There was the first, who may have had a mental condition, he was that dumb. His name rhymed with FEMA and he was adopted from a far-away nation, once upon a time. He was much taller than me. And for the longest time, we all thought that maybe he was just faking his stupidity to be more of the reggae skater he ended up being. Truth probably is that he really was dumb. He was the first boy I ever "went out" with. After being "out" with me, he proceeded to capture the hearts of every girl in our school. No, really.

The next boy I called my boyfriend was a year younger than I, and had a tendency to follow me around to my classes, then walk past their doors and through their rooms, because I would wave at him every time. The boyfriend after that was one of the smarter ones. His name was David, and he was very good at Geography. He was not as good at treating girlfriends like girlfriends instead of weaker companions. David and I broke up because he liked to challenge authority. But that's just my fancy-talk for me saying, "He liked to scream DOOKIE at police cars, and he wrote 'nasal rape' on the wrong things."

I then decided that I didn't need a boyfriend, because of a very long story I'm not fit to tell. The rest of my middle-school life was spent alone except for the minor crushes I entertained, the naughty things I said sometimes. I decided I wasn't going to commit to anyone who lived in a 50-mile radius of my home.

So then, today, The Boyfriend Whom I Am Very Committed To And Who Lives Within 50 Miles Of My Home, was heartbreakingly depressed in the class we share. When he's as sad as he was today, it's like the world has come to a screeching halt. He doesn't talk. He doesn't squeeze my hand back. And when you ask him if he's alright, he half-smiles through his pain and then tells you that he is going to be just fine. Can you hear the sound of my heart breaking? This boy who thinks, this boy I love, is going to be just fine.

But neither of us know when.