So, as the Library Boy drama plays out to it’s final conclusions, it turns out he is…not well. Depressed. Freaked out. Going through some major sh*t, which is not surprising, given how much sh*t he went through as a kid.



“I was afraid to tell you,” he says now. I thought I’d never be talking to him again, but I’m not so hardhearted that I can resist someone crying on my voicemail. “I should have trusted you enough to tell you what was really going on.”



Maybe I’m being manipulated, was my first thought. He feels guilty; he thinks I hate him, so he’s trying to get my pity.



But as I listened to him talk about how scared and lonely and depressed he was, he did get my sympathy, though I kept an icy tone in my voice. Because though I did – and maybe do – care about him deeply, I’m not in a position to help him.



The most surprising thing of all was that he covered it up so well. He played the role of Mr. Grounded, as I said, to a “t,” so much so that I decided to trust him with my love. To lean on him, because I thought he was a fount of stability. Meanwhile, the foundation was crumbling and the nails were falling out of the walls.



I hope he gets the help he needs. Because there is a wonderful person in there, who could be grounded and stable and nurturing and loving, and all those things I thought he was. That he is. He just won’t be those things for me- or for anyone - until he can get to the heart of what ails him.



Meanwhile, lock your doors and batten down your hatches, because, I, people, am going off my anti-depressants. Yes, it’s been two and a half years now that General Celexa has kept me on the straight-and-narrow but damn it, I want to see if I can survive with out him!



Please don’t worry – it will be a very slow process and I am under strict doctor supervision (could you loosen this straitjacket PLEASE, and when do I get my next TRANQUILIZER?!) so take a deep breath, have a Black Currant Margarita on me, and let’s see how it goes, shall we?