Then again, Bando was like a little furry man. He was love in the purest form for me. I reached out to Jordan to get his story, and it broke my heart. His family, the only people he had ever known since a puppy, packed up and moved away.
They left him behind in the apartment because their new place didn’t allow pets. He had been there for weeks before the landlord discovered him. He refused to leave one particular room, because he thought they were coming back for him.
When I stared down into his brown eyes, I could relate. When my parents died, I thought they were coming back. Even as I held my brother’s hand as we watched them being lowered into the ground, I still believed they would come back. My mind knew they would not, but my heart never stopped longing for their return. Anytime someone would visit, I had this excitement like my mother would pop out with her beautiful smile and warm hugs.
Like Bando, us Caselli kids were abandoned by our family. Left to fend for ourselves, trying to accept love while having trust issues. It was the reason that I adopted Bando on a whim.
He needed me.
I needed him.
We were both two lonely souls that needed each other. No matter how hard things got, I would never give up on him.
He was family.
Pulling the draw from my desk, I pulled out my prescription of Lexytra and shook out two pills into my hands. My doctor had prescribed me antidepressants because a bitch was depressed.
I was diagnosed with depression in college and had kept it to myself all these years. We weren’t the type of siblings that got together and told our business. We kept everything closeto ourselves and went on about life. Me and Kora got together for Pilates and dinners; however, we talked about surface level things.
Anytime that things became too deep, we would pause, reset, and switch the subject. Being emotional wasn’t something that we Caselli’s were in touch with. Menace wasn’t the type to coddle you and tell you everything would be better.
He was the type to look at you like an alien if you cried or had any emotions. I learned early on that you couldn’t have emotions. They made you weaker, and you weren’t as quick on your feet.
So, telling them that I had been diagnosed with depression didn’t feel like something that should be the talk of one of our limited outings together.
High functioning depression was a bitch.
On the outside, everyone saw this put together, confident, powerhouse of a woman. Someone that would enter any courtroom with her claws extended and ready. I was the person who called and checked in on everyone and was down to show up with takeout and drinks when any of my girls needed me.
Meanwhile, on the inside, I was low.
So low.
Always feeling completely low, exhausted, and that was even when I just woke up. You ever woke up from a full nine hours and you were still completely tired, overwhelmed, and drained?
Then, some nights, I couldn’t keep my eyes closed. I tossed and turned in bed with my thoughts loud and in charge. I recounted everything I did for the day, and what needed to be done the next day. When I should have been asleep, I was too busy working in my head to the point I just couldn’t.
My mind was never quiet.
Despite everyone being proud of me, I was so hard on myself. Never doing enough, always striving for more, and hardly evercelebrating my accomplishments. I remember when I passed the bar, I should have been excited.
Elated.
I remember Capri calling me to celebrate and I made up an excuse. Told her that I was going out with my family, which was a lie. Menace was overseas, Landon was wherever he was, and Kora was busy.
Even if they weren’t busy, I didn’t want to celebrate. I stayed in my condo on the couch in the dark, and watched the city move from the couch. I wondered what my parents would have said. What would their reaction be? Would they have forced us all out to dinner?
It was easy for people to assume because I lost my parents young that I would forget, or I would get over it. Everyday living without the two people you loved the most was torture. Every celebration, every low you experienced, and every piece of your life was reduced to wondering if they were proud of you.
Hugs became further and further in the rearview, and you learned to adapt without them. Convinced yourself that you didn’t really love hugs anyway, knowing that somewhere, long ago, you loved affection.
I missed melting in my father’s arms when he came home after a business trip. Our home feeling and smelling like love because my mother was there, even when he was away. It was hard staring at Menace and Don at times, because they reminded me of our father.
Depression had turned me into a liar.
Always smiling and telling everyone I was fine when I was the complete opposite. I wasn’t fine, and it had been a long time since I had been. I entered relationships hoping they would make me feel again.
Craving that love that I had been desperately searching for in every dead-end relationship. I knew half the men I dated wereno good, which is why I chose them. I believed that I was no good, so why would I go for the good guy? Deep down, I didn’t feel like I deserved the perfect man.
