the weekends have become the shell that i crawl into. showering is the hardest part. no one will smell me so who cares? i lick the front of my top teeth and debate whether i should brush. who cares? no one is here, no one will mourn my teeth. should i put the dishes in the dishwasher? who cares. the trash? only i see it. i sleep 12 hours and long for more. these are the weekends.
fortunately the weekdays need me to be awake and alert. they need me to shower and brush my teeth. because there are people on weekdays that require my assistance and pay me in exchange for it. that money keeps me from sleeping in a gutter or not eating. i am appreciative of that part, at least. i am a high-functioning depressive, you might say. but still it seeps in, every day. “mental health day” has become my new celebration; when life gets too hard i can say “fuck it” and go back to sleep.
if you’re reading this, i’m okay. and i’m sorry i cancelled on you. it’s not you, i cancel on everyone. but it is better than the alternative–a meeting where i can’t be fully present with you. i hate that more.
