Weekend in the Wilderness

Weekends are great, aren’t they?  You spend all week working, looking forward to Friday when you can clock off and forget about work for a few days.  Especially when your job is stressful and you’re already thinking about the upcoming weekend on a Monday, and you need that break away more than ever. 

I always looked forward to my weekends.  So when was it that I started dreading them?  

Since I moved to London, I find this to be the case with most of my weekends and the majority of the bank holidays.  Bank holidays, the most sacred of weekends, have become especially concerning to me.  I feel sort of relieved that there will be no more bank holidays now until Christmas, and then I won’t have to worry, because I will make sure I’m not alone.  Because it’s being alone that scares me most; having no plans in this great city where I should be making the most of my life.   

This weekend I had no plans.  I thankfully had been so busy in the week that I had no time to contemplate this until the weekend actually arrived.  

But when it came, it sapped the life from me.  Friday night I got home from work late and as I watched a film and made dinner I could feel myself getting down.  Saturday I spent without motivation to do anything, and it is a miracle that I actually managed to hang my washing out on the line to dry in the sunshine.  I ventured into the garden a few times but not for long; the overgrown lawn, flower beds and spiders hanging from every conceivable bush and the washing line sent me retreating into the safety of my dark and tiny studio flat, far from the reaches of the spiders and of course the beautiful sunshine.  Back into the dark main room, back under the covers of my bed, my head at best filled with a lack of capacity to do anything other than play bejewelled on my phone and at worst full of self-doubt and tearful realisation that this is my life.  The tears come and go; my tear-stained pillow soaks and dries.  

As Saturday night comes and goes, dissolving into Sunday morning, I am plagued by stupid dreams about work.  I wake early, around 8ish, before going back to sleep and more dreams until around 11.  The sun is shining again and I open the blind to let what little light there is seep through.  Today is another long day ahead of me, but there is some salvation in the fact that this is the final day of this horrible weekend.  I don’t look forward to going back to work.  I only welcome the relief it brings from loneliness and self-deprecation.  

As I heat the final leftovers of Friday’s chinese takeaway, having woken too late for breakfast and going straight into lunch, I hear my phone beep.  I leave the kitchen to look at my phone which is on the bed.  My friend is texting me.  I ignore it and return to the kitchen to finish washing up.  My phone beeps again. Eventually I go back to my phone.  One missed called.  She wants to meet, for coffee, to write. I am glad to have her text and an excuse to leave the flat.  So I reply and agree to meet.  But not in my usual style, and she suspects something is wrong.  I admit I am not ok.  We arrange to meet a few hours later.  

I feel more positive to have a reason to go out, but the motivation monster still has me tight in its grips.  I procrastinate getting ready and even after getting out of the shower, I sit there, on the bed, no desire to run a brush through my damp hair or to apply any make-up. Eventually I must text my friend to say I will be running late, perhaps it wasn’t such a good idea to watch Die Hard 3 when I’m supposed to be going out.  But I think even without the film I would have struggled.  She calls me, and I fall apart on the phone.  I can’t find the motivation to leave the flat, despite spending the weekend wishing I had a reason to go out.  She talks me round, and I apply make-up and even straighten my hair before taking my laptop to catch the bus from the end of the road.  

It was, of course, worth going out.  I didn’t do any creative writing (except starting this blog on the way home) but I did apply for two jobs.  And of course I spent time with a friend, away from the confinement of my flat and more importantly from the ruination of my own mind.  

It is now officially Monday, and as I look back over the weekend I see what a waste it has been.  Not completely of course, since I applied for two more jobs than I had before. In the words of the Eagles, “I could have done so many things, baby, if I could only stop my mind.”  There will be many more weekends like this, I’m sure.  But with every job application, every blog post, there is hope that life can change.  That one day the weekends will become sacred once more.  Something to live for, and not something to fear.

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5 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. mincs1
    Sep 14, 2015 @ 02:45:04

    I just finished reading your post and I feel for you and what you are going through. I am browsing the WordPress reader and I wanted to share a “wisdom” quote from another blogger: Leon Kwasi Kuntuo Asare. (I’m sorry I don’t know how to attach a direct link!) “At any given moment you have the power to say this is not how the story is going to end.” May nothing but good things come your way 🙂 Sincerely, Mary

    Reply

    • 33andlostinlife
      Sep 14, 2015 @ 06:47:37

      Thanks Mary. I know I am the only one who can change my life but it’s hard, and when depression takes hold it’s so hard to shake. I don’t want my story to end this way, and I’m determined it won’t 🙂

      Reply

  2. milliethom
    Sep 22, 2015 @ 14:06:19

    I can see positive thoughts and feelings working their way into your life in this post. Weekends are sacred when you work all week, and to be enjoyed. Meeting up with your friend obviously does you good. Hope something positive comes from the job applications, too. 🙂

    Reply

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