[This is a fictional piece. Any similarity to actual persons or occurrences is purely coincidental.]
They say days around holidays are the hardest for single people. It was hard for me for a different reason – or no reason at all. They say there are a lot of ways you can lift yourself up. But for me most of the days I find no reason to get out of bed. They say things would get better – eventually. I waited and waited and the eventuality never comes.
Every morning I think about giving up – not getting dressed, not going to work, not meeting people. Sometimes halfway getting dressed I would stop and call it a morning. I felt bad about it; I knew there is something wrong with this kind of non-commitment; but I am not getting any so-called help as if people who know nothing about me and my life would suddenly make me feel positive about my life again. As if everything in life would suddenly be easier to bear with. I have friends who went to therapy and take anxiety meds; they are nothing more than putting on a beer goggle on these poor suffering people who actually make efforts to change things. I’d rather let myself be, for better for worse.
I woke up at 11 am on a work day. I checked my phone; there were approx. 13 emails coming in, 5 of which requires me to take action. I threw the phone on the other side of the bed and wrapped myself under the sheet. But I could not sleep any more. All I could think about were those goddamn emails. I have no time to cry but to get down to business. They say exercise produces endorphin which leads to joy. I dropped everything at hand and went to the gym. I thought it would make me more productive for the rest of the day. I felt so lethargic to the extent that I could not even lift up those 40 lb weights. I wish what’s been weighing on my mind is just as quantifiable. After that I went home. It would be the office holiday party in a few hours. I must finish all my work and get prepared before that. I dragged myself to the desk and tried to reconcentrate on the job at hand. I couldn’t. I picked up a half-read book and slouched on the couch to read it. 2 pages in and I could not concentrate any more. I put the Clash’s “London Calling” vinyl on the turntable. I made my way to the bedroom, lying on the bed on my stomach. “Rudie Can’t Fail” was playing. “How’d you get so rude and a-reckless / Don’t you be so crude and a-feckless / You’ve been drinking brew for breakfast / Rudie can’t fail.” I sobbed incessantly for no reason. I kept sobbing and my tears wetted my pillow. I flipped the pillow over. A few days ago I bought a nice tux for tonight’s holiday party. I could look smashing in it. I need to go shower. I could feel better in my new tux looking all dazzling. But whom do I want to impress. Who would give a shit if I am at the party or not. I unlocked my phone, clicked on Safari and opened a private window and typed in Pornhub.com. I scrolled all the way down to the third page and nothing aroused me. I masturbated anyway because it helps me relax. I did not come. Now the Clash was singing “I’m all lost in the supermarket / I can no longer shop happily / I came in here for that special offer / A guaranteed personality.” The song triggers the deepest sadness in me and I could no longer control the sobbing. I thought about not going to the party. I also thought about the girl I’ve been seeing lately. She is nice and all and the sex was mediocre but passable. I was glad that we were on the same page about seeing each other casually. But I doubt the sincerity in her representation when she suggested that I should meet her friends. I did go and they were a nice bunch. But all of this was me going through the motion, though it was a lot less taxing than my day job. I don’t know why she was on my mind; maybe subconsciously I was thinking about calling her for help. I should go to the party – at least to show my face and pretend to be a good sport and festive and likable one more time for the year. I looked at my tux, what a goddamn waste if I didn’t go. Here went my second try to lift myself out of the bed. I passed by the fridge to take a piss, and ended up opening the fridge and took out a beer. I cracked it open. Goddamn refreshing and it calmed me down. I thought about another girl on Facebook who kept messaging me and talking about doing stuff together. I met her while walking through a park when she was walking her dog. They were both cute. The dog could not stop licking my leg. I didn’t know why. We (me and the girl, not the dog) ended up exchanging Facebook info. I was never intended to message her; but I replied to her messages twice or three times a week just because. She already sent me pictures of her family. She reported to me about her daily activities. I’m aware that I’m bad at maintaining any romantic relationship and now I’m bad at putting a stop to one too. Three beers in, I do not feel like going out. It was 7 pm. It is okay, I told myself, no one would notice that I did not show up at the party. It is already tomorrow’s problem. Everything’s gonna be fine.