Amy lay in bed, wishing that Roberta would just hurry up and get off the phone; but she didn't say that.
"It's just so painful, you know? I mean, you don't even realize it at first, there's just these mornings where you wake up and you go about your business but then you try to get to work and no matter what you do," Roberta said in one big breath, "that it's not going to matter and you're just going to screw up whatever you do.
"And then... it doesn't get better the next day, and then you start to get behind on your work and your obligations and all that, but you just ask yourself, what's the point? What the hell's the point of it all, it's just going to get worse. Do you know what I mean?"
"Mm," Amy mumbled, "yeah."
"But it's not just that! I mean, if it was just work, whatever, I can deal with that, but it just goes so much deeper, you know? I mean... no, you don't know, and that's what really hurts above all else. Because then you just start to doubt everything about your life, absolutely everything. Are you on the right path, did you really make an informed decision, was anything you did right? I mean, it's just... what if it's all been a waste?"
"Must be rough," she said weakly.
"It is! I mean, it's just... what's there to keep me going? I guess in the end it's just all self-determination, you know, I mean, I have to really think about the whole thing rationally. I mean, really, just tell myself to think about it rationally. Otherwise I'm just going to do something really rash when I get into these moods. I just need to tell myself, no, it'd be a god damned mistake. Do you know what I'm talking about?
"I mean, as much as I hate to say it... I've even thought about killing myself, and I mean, really, I've seriously thought about it. And that's just what brings it all home, I think, because I can't just do that. I'd regret it-- well, no, but I mean, you know what I mean, right?" Roberta said sadly.
"...had no idea," she replied.
"I guess not. I mean, I'm not surprised by it. For God's sake, I'm a transsexual woman with a family history of depression! Could I possibly be at any more risk for it? The odds are like, overwhelmingly against me. The first part alone gives me like, a fifty percent chance of surviving until I'm 20, and the clinical depression, it's... well, I don't know what the numbers are exactly, but you know, it's not good. The universe is bloody well stacked against me! But... well, what else can I do?
"So... yeah, I guess that's what does it. There's extraordinary odds there, yeah, but I mean, that's reason enough. I'm not going to get myself killed because of some god damned numbers, how horrible would that be? So when I get into these bouts, I just have to tell myself... the most important thing is to survive. I want to die in my sleep at the nice old age of seventy, so when I'm like this, that's just what I have to tell myself, right? Forget about trying to get everything done, forget about reevaluating your life, forget about all that and just focus on the one thing that you can in that state of mind: staying alive."
"Makes sense," Amy said.
"That's my goal right now. Not to make it big as an actress or find the right man or get through that surgery, it's just... stay alive. Get through the day. Worry about that later," she rambled, finally pausing to take a deep breath.
"Thanks," Roberta added, "talking to you really helps. It's good to just get that off my chest."
"Um...," Amy said quietly, "I'm feeling kinda drowsy... I should go...."
"Okay, sorry, I've already gone on for too long. I just feel really lost, you know, and it's sometimes just too much to deal with. I didn't really mean to impose on you like that. Um, take care, Amy," she said.
"Bye," Amy responded, and then she let the phone drop from her hand.
She closed her eyes, letting herself drift off after the strenuous task of listening to Roberta ramble on. It was only natural that she was so drowsy, after all. Three bottles of painkillers will generally do that.