Here we go Again

The loneliness tends to hit at night, when time seems to slow down and the darkness of the world settles around me like an old, familiar blanket. I have family, I have acquaintances, I even have some friends, but not true friends. Not deep friends, I should say. Not friends that I can call up in the middle of the night when my negative thoughts buzz so loudly in my head that I want to scream. Not friends that I can share my deepest shames and secrets with. No, I have friends, but not deep friendships. 

By all accounts, I had an average childhood. In fact, you could say it was even above average.   Loving parents, regular meals, happy memories. So why all this darkness? Why this extreme sadness when I lay in bed at night, desperately trying—and failing—to shut off my damn brain and just go to sleep?

My wife is on the other side of our king bed, nestled tightly under a mound of blankets. We both sleep better in the cold and smothered by blankets. On average, she’s a worse sleeper than I am, but tonight, it’s different. I’m wide awake, and she’s softly snoring away.  

I realize how fortunate I am to have her. Most guys my age don’t have a life partner, and even fewer are married. I know how extremely lucky I was to meet her in high school, fall in love, and actually get married. We’ve known each other for ten years and have been married for five. Not even being thirty yet, my marital status tends to be a shock to most people I meet. But I wouldn’t have it any other way. My wife is my rock, the only deep friendship I have that lets me know I’m not completely alone in this world. But right now, in the dead of night, it’s of little help. 

I resist the urge to scream as my brain endlessly cycles through my day, my fears, my anger. I can’t stop thinking about my idiotic response to a coworker’s question from that morning. It’s been fourteen hours since that interaction, but it’s still stuck on repeat in my mind. I’ve played it over and over again, analyzing every mistake like a coach reviewing practice footage. Except this review isn’t helpful. It isn’t meant to make my future performance better. It’s simply a practice in masochism. 

My toes instinctively curl and my body tenses as I relive the memory for what feels like the millionth time. I fight the urge to rapidly bounce my foot, only succeeding because I know, if I don’t, I would wake my wife. 

When my brain has finally exhausted itself with all the mistakes I made that day, it decides it’s time to check in on my list of fears. Its favorite is medical scares. That never seems to get old. Beyond the obvious worries of me or my wife getting sick, my mind loves to dwell on the financial ruin that would come from just one medical emergency. Not only would I be worried about getting better, but I’d also worry about going bankrupt. 

As an independent contractor, I don’t have a company to pay part of my medical insurance. Any coverage I want comes 100% out of pocket. Just having started my career, I’m not exactly at a lucrative stage of my life, and any insurance that would actually be beneficial is far beyond my current income. 

I’m lucky tonight because my brain doesn’t dwell on this fear for too long. This worry slowly bleeds into my anger with society at large. Why, in our day and age, are we still letting people die of preventable diseases? Why have we not solved housing insecurity? How does the government have enough money to bail out the banks and bomb our “enemies” halfway around the world, but we can’t somehow manage to keep people from starving to death?

The injustices make my blood boil, make me want to get up and write a letter to my senator or start a fundraiser at work. 

Ah, work. That little nugget brings me back to the mistake I made earlier that day when a coworker asked me a question. Now that it’s been a while, my brain is refreshed and ready to review everything I did wrong that day. 

Here we go again.