Hey there! Hello!

How are you today? You don’t have to lie, it’s not like I can hear what you’re saying.

You, over there! Feeling good? Great! I’m happy for you. Hey, why don’t you go frolic in the corn (or whatever happy people do) and leave me with the other folks for a bit. 

 . . .are they gone? Is it just you and me?  Good. 

Now . . . . how are you doing?  

That bad huh? Yeah, me too. 

Just when we thought it couldn’t get worse, a plague comes along like a bully from high school’s yore, shoves us back in the locker and says, “Stay there, twerp!”, because my concept of bullies are still isolated to the mid 90’s, apparently. This has caused a long string of lonely folks like you and me to isolate even further. And now we’re stuck with one of the main things that bring us the most despair; ourselves.

I’ve tried to fight it. I started taking meds almost a year ago, I’ve watched so many videos on how to fight loneliness and depression, I had a talk with my doctor (the look of horrified shock on her face when I was done talking didn’t help all that much). I even tried getting a cat!  But, time and time again, I still go back to sitting in my room, in the dark, crying; wondering how people do it. How do they go on? How do they smile? How do they laugh? I mean genuinely laugh, not the fake shit I do all the time (you know what I’m talking about). How do they . . . . be?

I’m in a place where I don’t want to be anymore. I’m tired of being. It hurts. It hurts mentally and physically. My chest hurts, it hurts to breathe, I feel so weak. I’ve often wondered if Covid taking me away wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing. At least I wouldn’t hurt anymore. 

I’ve reached the point where I look at folks who are happy and content with resentment. I don’t want to hate them, but envy begets hate eventually, I guess. I want to frolic through the corn too! Instead, I’m writing this post (not really knowing where it’s going) in the dark, my face only illuminated by the sterile, artificial light from the laptop. 

It’s dark where I’m at, and it’s dark where I am. 

I can see why people take their own lives. I completely understand. And yes, I’ve considered it. 

But I can’t. And ya know why? Because of you. You make life worth living. Now, you may be thinking, “whatevs, I’m just a nobody reading this post.” And that may be true; but, if you are reading this post, then I mean (specifically) YOU. The only thing that fights my darkness is writing and the readers who read the writing that I write . . . . for you to read – or something like that. Look, I can’t explain it (that’s what makes me a good writer), but the best thing that helps me is knowing that you’re reading. If one person reads this, then it’s worth it. Gratitude goes a long way to help loneliness. And since this is Thanksgiving Weekend, I want to thank YOU. 

It’s tough out there, I know it is. But I want you to know that you mean something to me. We don’t even have to know each other. But by reading this post, you know there are others like you. Others who are struggling just as hard as you. I know how hard it can be to wake up and get out of bed in the morning. I’m not saying this as a person who’s conquered depression, fuck them; or rather, good for them (I’m still working on my envy problem). I’m speaking to you as someone who will find it hard to get up tomorrow morning; as someone who, just today, cried in her bed at 3pm because of the thoughts and feelings kicking her down shouting, “give me yer lunch money, ass wad!” 

I’m not saying I know the answer, but for some reason, gratitude keeps me going. It can be something as silly as being thankful for the pizza I’m about to shove down my throat, or as complicated as being thankful for my writing teacher from high school who has completely repudiated me for being trans, but always allowed me to be proud of my writing style. 

What are you thankful for? There’s no wrong answer (well, maybe Pepsi), but try to think of stuff, make a list. And while I’m on the subject of doing stuff, start doing stuff. Why? Because doing stuff ends, and when it ends, there’s a sense of accomplishment. Do anything. Do the laundry. Clean your room. Or, just go through your wallet and toss out all those receipts taking up space. And when you’re done doing that, take a break and then do something else. It’s not distraction, it’s accomplishment. And accomplishment means something; something you did by yourself that wouldn’t have been done without you. 

In a weird, dumb way; the world needs you. 

And I need you. 

Thank you.