The Battle of Sunday Night

Sunday is always my most reflective and introspective day. It is like that by design as I rarely, if ever, make plans beyond the occasional brunch. It is my day to be with myself. 

Only, increasingly it is becoming so hard to sit with myself. Just myself. I clamor and claw at the walls of the space of solitude and silently wish for someone, anyone to rescue me. I am so uncomfortable with where I am that having to be present is quite literally torture. It is when I reach for escape…maybe get a little buzz and forget. Maybe cry a bit and forget. Maybe call a guy and forget. Only now the calling a guy part is a trigger. 

What was initially supposed to be the personified version of a stiff drink, is now the entry way to a spiral staircase to my worst fears. And every time the feeling comes, I remember. And I clinch my jaw and I grind my teeth and I wring my hands and I can’t breathe. Yet even with knowing the awful consequences of a desperate phone call, I make them. Sending out bat signals across exes and old flings praying and hoping somebody can distract me from the loneliness and now deep sadness that I feel.  

I read somewhere that loneliness was God’s way of requesting time with you. Well I constantly fail at it. And I know it’s meant to make me stronger, when I am able to sit through it and not let it crush me or catalyze me into often regrettable actions. 

It won’t kill me, but it feels worse than death. It’s cold and isolated. Beyond the warmth of care and comfort, it is my own personal Azkeban. A sea of sorrow surround me and I am housed with my poor decisions that feed me lies of how my solitude was earned by unworthiness. I can recognize the lie and yet in the moment I cannot refute it. 

Today, on the Monday I feel a small victory in surviving another Sunday night. More clawing more attempts to escape myself, but no such luck. I find myself grateful that I was not successful. I know what the desperation can bring…has brought. It makes me feel weak. My Therapist would correct me and offer “human”. So it makes me feel so human. To be so vulnerable and to succumb so willingly to emotions. Not to be stronger than them and to chart my course after fleeting winds that change. 

I’m already scared for next Sunday. 


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