Story of a Girl

She’s had it easy.

Born into middle class suburban life, she hasn’t suffered any serious illnesses. Nobody close to her has died. She hadn’t suffered abuse, or bullying, and her parents weren’t divorced or unsupportive. She’d never had a serious boyfriend, but she had many friends; from school, from work, from uni, from life.

She walked life in a relatively straight line. Primary school to high school, high school to university, in a degree that filters straight into the work force. While she studied she worked part time, first at a cafe, then at a cinema. She was responsible, average intelligence, fairly lazy. Laziness; probably her worst habit. If she didn’t have anywhere to be, she wouldn’t change out of her pajamas. She often flaked on plans, using various excuses when the real reason was her sub zero care factor. She can marathon a TV series like nothing else, and though she often resolved to do something physical; go for a walk, do some yoga… she would inevitably bail on that too.  And the more she flaked, the lazier and more unfit she became and the less likely she would follow through.

She had a good life, easy. But she felt unfulfilled, listless.

She was diagnosed with depression when she was seventeen. That is seven years ago now. She dutifully takes a tablet every day, to regulate the chemical composition of her brain; to fix her broken mind.

At times, she feels happy, normal. But there are still times where her mood takes a dip and she wonders if she can ever be truly happy, truly fulfilled, or if she is cursed to live her life finding flaws in everything, questioning the purpose of everything. And these feelings, they make her feel guilty. What reason can she have to be depressed? This girl, who as had sucg an easy life. A good home, an education, loving family and friends, stability. Someone like that, maybe they don’t even deserve happiness.

And so, she continues on with her life, unchanging, straight line, hating her selfishness and sadness. She can’t see any other path. It doesn’t matter when she takes risks because all decisions are based on obligation, loyalty, on what is expected. Who is to say what is smart and what is right, if they are different or if they are the same. Does it matter? To her it does, but at this point she doesn’t even feel like herself, and can’t remember a time when she did. And she can’t see any other path, but keeps wishing for something she can’t even comprehend.

A tragically anticlimactic story.







I have known the story of Narcissus for a long time.

One of your typical greek tragedies; A beautiful boy, blessed with long life, so long as he ‘never knew himself’. When he spots his beautiful reflection in a stream, of course he falls in love with it. The sources vary but he either accidentaly drowns himself or starves to death, never wanting to be apart from the one he loves. From his death is bourne a flower, the Narcissus flower, a lasting testament to beauty.

Something I didn’t know until recently; the Narcissus flower is more commonly known as the daffodil. DAFFODIL. I thought this was fairly anti-climactic, until I looked into it more.


I wonder why the Cancer Council chose this flower as their symbol of hope in the fight against cancer? Sure, it’s the ‘first flower of spring’. For me, the story is packed with negative symbolism (to be fair, I’m depressed). Beauty; the boy, the flower. Flowers die (as did Narcissus), thus, beauty is fleeting and death comes for all. Narcissus is derived from the greek word narke which means numbness. Did the boy feel himself dying? Supposedly the flower was named for it’s intoxicating fragrance. There’s something else intoxicating about them. Turns out, the bulbs are poisonous.

Other ridiculously adorable names for the Narcissus are Daffadown Dilly or daffydowndilly. It is also sometimes called asphodel, of which it is a variant. Yeah, like from potions class with Professor Snape.

Circles within circles.