Deep Deep Down
Facebook posts taunt me with their reminders of all that I have given up. The house to nurture and put my stamp on, the romantic meals, shopping for gifts for my significant other.
I spend my days alone in a windowless office, occasionally interrupted from my reverie by colleagues with questions or demands that sap at my dwindling energy.
And then I pop by to see the girls. A brief hour of cuddles or being ignored in favour of the TV or some established game. Cutting comments from her making me wish I hadn’t bothered.
I return to my new home. I make a rudimentary meal to comfort eat and sit and read, and write, and plan. But the thoughts continue to intrude. The feeling that this is it now. That there will never be anything to look forward to again. No more joy in my life. Just a gaping chasm where potential used to be.
I am alone.
I am working long hours for what equates to much less than minimum wage. I live in rented accommodation with no likelihood of ever escaping the rental black hole. I have lightweight friends – up for a good time, gone for the bad times. I hate my job and the place I work. I just want to sleep it off. But this is reality. This is what being a grown up is all about. You have to dust yourself down, paint a smile on your face and move forward, one foot in front of the other.
But if I stumble, I may never get up again.