Every once and a while I have those days… y’know those days
that you don’t want to do anything, don’t want to go anywhere, and don’t want
to see anyone? Those days where anything
besides getting out of bed, dragging yourself to the couch, and turning on a
movie seems like a burden. And even that
is pushing it a little.
Those days that you should be looking for a job so that you
can find success in your life and not be a leech upon society. So you can feel
good about yourself and your accomplishments. So that the past four years you
spent working on a college degree aren’t all in vain, and you don’t end up just
working at a restaurant—never going anywhere, and never doing anything
meaningful, significant, or even just okay.
On those days none of my goals or aspirations matter—because
the looming fear of failure is overwhelmed by the utter apathy. It’s on those days that everything starts to
speed up and slow down all at the same time.... everything youdo andthink startstoruntogether inanungrammaticalandhorriblestringofnonthingnessandallthesuddenmassiveamountsoftimehavepassedandyou’vewatchedanentireseasonofwhitecollarandwonderwhathappenedtoyouandhowyouenededupwhereyouare.
Sometimes one of those days turns into two of those days.
And two of those days turn into three or four. And the next thing I know a week
has passed and I hardly know what happened. Why haven’t I seen anybody I care
about? I remember getting a few
invitations. In fact, at the beginning I distinctly remember sitting in my
bathroom sink, winding my hair around my curling rod, and talking on the phone,
telling a friend back in Utah that I was going to go out to dinner with some
other friends that night. Makeup, cute
clothes, hairdo… and suddenly—just as it was time to leave—it was all too much
effort.
The decision to stay in compounded on itself; I could have
texted friends, I could have called. But I didn’t. I didn’t want to. In fact,
my apathy began to extend to those I regularly reach out to—my favorite people.
I didn’t want to talk to anybody. This goes on for what feels like forever. And
the only thing that can pull me out of it, is exactly what I don’t want when I
feel that overwhelming apathy—go out.
So Monday, after a week of near recluse—I dragged my eyes
open at 7:00 a.m. There were
thunderclouds outside. I shot off a text, “Are we still on with the storms?” I
hoped and prayed the answer was no. I pulled my knees underneath my chest,
wrapped my arms around my pillow, holding my phone in front of my nose. “Yes.”
Damn.
I immediately said a prayer to repent for cussing so early
in the morning. I always regret starting
the day off with vulgarity. Besides that, floating down the Shenandoah River in
a tube with a bunch of people would be fun. Fun, Megan. Do you remember what
that is? That’s what you do with other people. Outside of the walls of your
apartment. Do you remember what outside looks like, Megan? Or is it a distant floating memory?
Somehow, forty-five minutes later I ended up sitting on the
asphalt in the church parking lot, listening to people who I’d never met, but
was apparently going to spend the day with talking. I fuzzily recall lying my
head down on my little black purse and taking a nap in the middle of that
parking lot.
Somewhere in the next two or three hours spent napping,
listening to cheerful conversations of people in the car, wracking my mind for
things to say, regretting coming, and staving off a really weird stomach ache
that was either wicked bad gas, hunger, or a violent illness, I started to have
fun.
I started to remember that I like people. That they can be fun—that they might even like me too, if I’d ever do something besides nap. I blew up tubes until I got lightheaded, sat down—and did it again. I watched the collection of clear tubes sitting around the group of ten of us go from having specks of spittle to suspicious condensation on the inside. I floated down the river and talked to old friends, new friends, and possibly some frogs and turtles. I twisted and turned on the tube, fell into the water—chased my tube, fell into the water again, and caught the tube again. I ruined the bandages on my feet helping my plantar fasciitis. I drank a Gatorade on the water. We connected tubes with hands, and feet to hold lengthy conversations, and keep all 7 of us with tubes that hadn’t popped together—and three hours later, I’d started to feel normal again.
It’s really easy to forgot amidst all the job searching, and
the hopelessness that spending some time with people can make everything just a
little bit better. People are the real joy in life. It’s spending time with
people that I care about, and finding new people to care about that makes the
world go round. And the only way that I ever pull myself out of that sucking
loneliness and apathy is to go out with people, do things with people; sometimes
it’s friends, sometimes I find places to serve… but life is so much better with
people that I care about, and people to be with.
So, for now, I’ll promise myself to get out of my house with
my little band of Day-clubbers more often! Stephen, Caitlyn, Caleb, Ben and I
all went to Trader Joe’s today. It wasn’t a long adventure, but it was an
adventure. And it made the prospect of sitting down and searching for jobs for
the next indefinite amount of time a little bit easier.
I’ll probably forget this lesson. I’ll probably enter that
pit of seclusion again at some point. But I’ll always remember after a period
of time (hopefully shorter net time, guys.
Because GEEZE. One should not spend upwards of 72 hours without exiting
one’s apartment. Ever. My poor
roommates. I did shower though, don’t worry. It was difficult. Because I couldn’t
get my feet wet. But I managed) to leave my apartment and seek out
friends.
Because, dude. I’m a crazy without people. And I’m a crazy with people, too. But hopefully a better crazy.
~Meggers
