Getting Up & Out

Spending the weekend as a recluse initially sounded like a good idea. I mean, why not? It’s been a part of my life since my formative years, and humans just aren’t my thing, after all. It was only natural.

Then again, not once before in my life did I have to spend it while in three states of being all at the same time: alone, depressed, and heartbroken. I was always just 2 out of 3 at most, because most weekends I stay in with my family in Manila, so I’m never really totally alone. And “heartbroken” had been a rarer thing in the past, since I never got so romantically depressed for more than a few weeks. My current heartbreak, however, has lasted 4 months (and, in periphery, a year more.) Depression is a normal, daily thing. Sometimes it trades places with emptiness, but let’s back away from the cliche zone before we get too caught up in it.

That being said, this weekend was emotionally the longest one I’ve ever had since the past summer (those  weeks & weekends had been bad; my family was in shambles). It didn’t help much that I didn’t have even my Facebook to keep me company. If not for the little amount of socialization I do there, I admit that I enjoy it because of the informative pages and posts that actually better me as a human being. I went cold turkey on Friday, and since then I’ve been more restless than usual. Add to that the fact that nobody even bothered to check on me, not even my “friends”. Not a single text., or mail. I could have died and no one would have noticed.

But enough with the whining, since those concerns are just on the ordinary human being level of consciousness. Existential issues also abound throughout the past 2 days, and the ever-present question of whether I should just go kill myself or not. And, as per usual, thoughts & memories & dreams of her and the “missed chances” as I was fond of calling them. I didn’t focus on them too long, though. They made my eyes burn.

I smoked and walked around my room, not knowing what to do. I did chores, wrote ugly poems, read books alternately, stretched and exercised, lay back in bed and cried. It was crazy; was crazy. But last night I managed to convince myself that all I needed to feel better was a walk outside, a trip to the market, and a seat in the park. And so I am getting ready to get up and out of this hole I made hell for myself, and I hope I’m better when I get back later in the afternoon. Smells ya later, homes.

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