Disclaimer: Not mine. If they were, Sirius and Remus would spend all
the books completely naked.
Note: The title comes form a saying us Redskins fans use when a player
is a dedicated Skin, except then it's burgundy not red.
None of them will ever understand what I'm feeling now. They try to,
but you can't ever truly understand without being a victim of this. It's
not Voldemort - facing him is like a walk in the park compared to facing
this every day. People, Muggles and wizards, call my problem a disease.
But it is much worse than a disease. I would rather go through Wizard's
Fever ten thousand times over than spend one day with what I have. It
is more like a curse than a disease, a curse that affects everything you
do and everyone you know. And the people that you do know will never truly
know you because of this. My few good friends often try to understand,
but I could never tell them. Would they still like me if they knew? Maybe
they would, but I cannot risk losing the first friends I have because
of my problem.
I have clinical depression. Although a doctor has not officially diagnosed
me, I have read enough books on depression to know. I first started seeing
symptoms at the beginning of Third Year. But I blamed it on stress and
worry, which is quite easy to do when one is taking three more courses
than is recommended and thinks that one of her best friends is being stalked
by a murderer. Fourth Year was not much better, with the Triwizard Tournament
and Rita Skeeter and the fight between Ron and Harry. The not sleeping,
irritability, and loss of appetite could easily be blamed on any of those
events. And even in Fifth Year, my depression would have gone unnoticed
if it were not for Harry.
Naturally we were all worried about Voldemort's rise. But it was Christmas
morning and not a Yule Ball in sight, so the three of us were quite happy.
I was opening my gifts, which included an OWL preparation book from Harry,
Worthless and Even More Worthless Charms That You Have To Know Because
They Will Be On The OWLs, and a calendar from Ginny.
And then there were the sugar quills from Ron. It was an extraordinarily
sweet gift - no pun intended- as sugar quills are my favorite type of
wizarding sweet, but I just gave Ron a weak smile as thanks. Harry approached
me after breakfast and asked me what was wrong and why didn't I love Ron's
present. I must have mentioned to him and Ron how much I liked sugar quills
one time, although I would be a bit surprised if both were actually
listening to me. My guess is that only one was paying attention to me
and told the other one afterwards. But somehow Harry knew. He told me
how long Ron looked for a box of sugar quills, as they are normally sold
individually, and how much Ron wanted me to love them. I denied the problem,
and he left me alone. And then I broke down crying.
I couldn't tell Harry. I couldn't tell him that every morning when I
wake up, I want to die, and every night when I go to sleep, I want to
die. And I certainly couldn't tell him how much I hated the sugar quills,
because from the moment I opened them, I knew that I loved Ron. I
knew sugar quills were not normally sold in boxes, and I loved that he
had searched for one for me. I loved the fact his note was carefully written,
unlike all his schoolwork. I love how any time I am upset, he does everything
he can to make me smile. But nothing he can do can make me smile when
I think of the sugar quills.
Because I can never tell Ron that I love him, because he could never
love me back. Who would love a depressed, bossy, over-achieving, know-it-all?
And I certainly cannot tell Harry. Harry has enough to worry about without
me to think about.
I get angry for no reason. If my homework is not perfect, I redo it.
I lose sleep worrying about Transfiguration grades, instead of worrying
if Harry will still be alive tomorrow night. I criticize my friends constantly.
I become annoyed at the twins, just because they try to make life just
a bit funnier for the rest of us.
Last night, I thought about turning my own wand on myself. I may not
be powerful enough for Avada Kedavra, but a simple severing charm should
work. But I couldn't, because on top of being a bossy know-it-all, I'm
also a coward. So much for bleeding red and gold.