For the past five months, save for about five nights, I have spent every night out. Whether this is dinner with some friends, an after-work inuman, or a catch-up over some coffee, the point is I would never spend a night alone. Not only was this bad for the state of my bank account, it has also been irresponsibly unhealthy. You can imagine my diet and how much it has cost me to maintain this lifestyle. There is no excuse for it. Well, at least not anymore.
Months ago, the relationship I was in had ended officially (that’s another story). What followed was the extremely slow and painful process of acceptance and learning to move on. And I dealt with it the best way I knew how, which is to be with the people I love, my BRUs, my family, my friends. Trip after trip, long night after long night, I kept myself with the company of others. I met up with friends I haven’t seen in months and solidified several friendships that I had ignored. And for certain hours of the day, all was well.
At first, I ignored all the expenses and all the unhealthy food and the drinking. “I deserve to let loose,” I would think to myself. But at some point, I reached a moment where I was no longer doing all this out of necessity. I no longer needed the company to get through the weekend or the night. But I looked for it still. It had become a habit.
It seems I have forgotten how to be alone. And I don’t mean alone as in single, I mean alone in its most literal sense. Where isolation and solitude used to be a comfort zone, it has now become a rather scary place. I’m afraid that any lull in the day would trigger the thoughts I’ve been trying to escape, that having only myself would mean a return to a very dark place in my mind. Even writing here, which always means a significant period of time alone, has become difficult. Maybe the procrastination helps. Maybe it’s a distraction. Maybe it’s just me coping. I don’t know for sure.
But one thing I do know is this: I’ve got to start somewhere, or someday. To you who is reading this now, this may or may not apply. But I guess this is as much a letter to myself as it is a piece of advice to anyone. You’ve got to start somewhere. And really, only we know where to begin.
Just last night, I finished watching Mad Men. Although the ending was one of the most satisfying endings I’ve seen for a TV series, it left a bitter taste in my mouth. I guess most endings would. Or maybe that’s just me. But what really got to me were the different character arcs and developments, all their storylines tied up neatly and intentfully.
You see, I’ve always related to many of the characters in Mad Men. In fact, I was just talking about it with my friend from work Michie, who had introduced me to the show. She was right when she said, there was no perfect character. Everyone had their obvious flaws. And it’s in this way that I saw parts of myself in the different characters and in their flaws as well. It felt as though I related to much of what they were going through. They were as human as you could go. In that sense, I craved the same character development, the same satisfying ending with no loose ends.
This is easier said, of course, when you expect to just watch your life unfold like a Netflix series, one episode after the next with no more effort than waiting for the next one to play. But this is real life. There are no skip intros here. No play laters, no pauses, and no replays. There is only living it through, and through. And at the end of each day, you’ve only got your company and you. And you have to start somewhere. With one day perhaps.