Revelations: Cate Pith & Eman Singles

Posted on December 15, 2011


My name is Cate Pith, and the following contains a few things I want people to know about me. Some of what I mention may not be pleasant, though keep in mind, this is not for your consolidation. It’s for mine.

If I could give a grade for my childhood, I’d give it a solid B-. As far back as I can remember, my parents never got along too well. Actually, that’s putting it lightly. It was more like they loathed each other. I remember the arguments. The shouting, screaming, the breaking of various objects, slamming of doors, hiding in dark places, only to be yelled at for doing so, and being made to embrace the display of anger. There were many police officers who came into our home and asked my big sister and I questions. I was always afraid of those tall, menacing-looking men wearing dark sunglasses with cold, expressionless faces. My fear of them continued for a while after my parents got divorced. Every time I would be riding in the car with my mom or dad, and I’d see a police car, I’d duck down until they were gone. It seems pathetic, I know. Anyway, why the B- then? Instead of a D or F? Well, I believe my parents cared about my sister and I, despite each one telling us the opposite was true about the other. They spoiled us. We would get practically anything that we asked for, and then some. However, the divorce still had a major effect on me. I gained weight and stopped doing well in school. My classmates started picking on me, and my mother, who was the art teacher, reminded me of how ashamed she was of me each time I brought home a C or lower. By the time eighth grade rolled around,  all the demeaning names used by my classmates (“fatass”,”dumbass”) and my mother’s disgust with me finally started getting under my skin. And just when I thought things couldn’t get much worse, I met Eman Singles.

My name is Eman Singles, and the following contains a few things I want to get off my chest. Some of what I say may not be pleasant, but keep in mind, I don’t give a fuck what you think.

My depression really started to manifest itself the few weeks before eighth grade began. I started thinking about how none of my classmates really liked me, cared for me, respected me, etc. So I changed gears a little. I stopped being the class clown, and I started working out. My classmates gradually stopped calling me a fatass and dumbass, but they still didn’t care much for me.

Then I made a big mistake.

I got this crazy idea from a series of books I was reading to carry around a picture of my crush. In the books, the heroes had pictures of their wives/girlfriends, and I thought that was pretty neat, so I wanted to do it as well. I regret it now. My crush found out, and made a big deal about it. She basically rallied most of the class against me (stupid popularity) and that’s when I really began my downward spiral. One day after being constantly abandoned by my classmates (cause everyone would follow her around), I went home and, in a fit of rage, cut myself over and over again with a dull knife. The result was my arm looking like my cat had went ballistic on me. So I used that as my excuse. Some people bought it, while others were suspicious.


After eighth grade ended, I absolutely loathed people. For the first five months of my freshmen year I was utterly quiet. People tried engaging me, inviting me to hang out with them at lunch, but I just wouldn’t have it. I didn’t want anyone to get to know me, and thus have anything to use against me in case they turned into my enemies. However, there was this one kid who was persistent in wanting to know me. So after five months, he got me to open up. Unfortunately, what spilled out wasn’t very pleasant. I became obnoxious and no one liked me. There was even a rumor spread about me (thanks to another popular girl). People called me a stalker a lot, which infuriated me. I didn’t see how I was being “stalker-ish”. When I would see someone I knew, I would catch up to them and try talking to them. Their response would be: “Uhh, why are you following/stalking me?” Another time, I was walking with this kid at lunch. We were doing laps around one of the buildings as we spoke, so we kept passing this other kid who was in my next class. When lunch was over and I went into class, the kid confronted me saying: “Why were you stalking me at lunch?”

That’s enough about ninth grade. Thinking about it only pisses me off.

And then tenth grade only got worse…

My home was foreclosed over the summer; the last day being the Sunday before I started at a new school the next day. So on top of dealing with my self-loathing and figuring out how to interact with people, I was dealing with that. Within the first month at my new school, I was already labeled a creep. I had been trying to interact with people, but I never knew what to talk about, so I created a lot of awkward silences. However, a small group of people gave me a chance, and I bonded with them almost instantly. But then I went and fucked it up. I had come up with this crazy plan to kill myself if I ever made friends again. The reason being I didn’t want to live to see those friendships go away. Unfortunately, this plan did the exact opposite. I came clean to one of my friends about it, and he went and told the rest of the group. So naturally they all became concerned and wanted to help, particularly this one girl.


I ended up falling head over heels for her, and asked her out. She said yes, but only because she was afraid to reject me and send me any further into my depression. I was overjoyed and instantly dumped all of my self-worth into her. She broke up with me the next day, realizing her mistake. I think rejection would have hurt less, but oh well. The following weekend she went out with my best friend. He had confided into me that he liked her, and I encouraged him to ask her out, despite how much it would hurt me. I figured, if she doesn’t like me, why should I be selfish and bar him from dating her? I unfortunately didn’t grasp how much it would hurt.

Two and half months later they broke up. Three weeks after that, she confided in me that she liked me again, but that time ‘for real’. Ha. I asked her out on a Monday, she didn’t give me an answer until Friday, which was yes. She also gave me my first kiss that day (Hook, line, and sinker. Damn I’m pathetic). We didn’t go out that weekend, nor did she let me see her (We were on Spring Break). Instead, she broke up with me the following Wednesday. A grand total of five days, and once again it hurt like hell. She became fed up with dealing with me, and went on what she called, a ‘cold streak’, in which she acted like she could care less about anyone. That lasted for three weeks, until she went out with my second best friend. Once again I had that stupid mentality of putting other peoples’ feelings before mine, and granted my friend permission to date her. However, it wasn’t like I had much of choice anyway. My friends were gradually becoming estranged because of my depression, and thus being less thoughtful of how things would affect me. So after the two got together, our mutual friends then gave me an ultimatum: Get happy, or get lost. I told them I would get happy, but I ultimately got lost, because there was no way I could handle the pain anymore.

As a side note, her and my other friends did try to help me deal with the pain during that time. I was also receiving therapy and put on medication, but my depression only let up slightly.

Moving on.

Eleventh grade was my favorite year. I was put into a day treatment program that helped me get a handle on my depression. I also made new friends and got into a relationship, though it was very brief (a month and a week). And I left just in time to start my senior year at a regular high school.

Senior year…

Twelfth grade started out pretty well. I was starting to develop a positive outlook on myself and my life. And then came along a major blast from the past. That girl I had a crush on in tenth grade, hit a bumpy road in her relationship. She confided in me a lot, and thus brought with her, all of her drama. Her emotions were out of whack, and she said and did things I’m sure she regrets now. She managed to dig up all of my old feelings for her and trigger my depression.  Shitty thing was, she didn’t want to take much responsibility for it. Sure, their my feelings, and I can control them. But, give a dog a bone and he’ll be happy, take it away and he’ll be disappointed, right? Well whatever. You wanna’ blame me, then fine, fuck you. You understand what I’m getting at, then I thank you.  And by ‘taking responsibility’, I mean she didn’t want to admit that what she was doing was hurtful and wrong, and apologize. She instead pinned it all on me, saying it was my fault for being hurt, because that’s how I “chose” to react.

So yeah, my last year of high school was hell, and I only talk to one person I befriended in tenth grade. And one other I befriended senior year. That’s the extent of my social life for ya’.

That’s pretty much the end. I’ll tell you how college is later on.

“Sad story,” Cate said.

“Why did you make meeting me sound so bad?”

“Cause it was.”

“Thanks. You’re a real peachy bitch.”

“Thanks. You’re a lowlife bastard.”

“You married me.”


“We were meant to be.”

“That’s true. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Eman extended his hand, and Cate put her soft, silky hand in his, and together they walked on into eternity.

Posted in: Essays, Stories