The weekend is supposed to be a nice break from the week, but I’ve had a tenuous relationship with the weekend. As a kid, I didn’t really care either way, because school was a joke, and I did whatever I wanted all the time. I actually remember waking up on Saturday mornings before I was supposed to. What the hell was I thinking? I really had not yet grasped the true meaning of weekend.

Through junior high, the weekend grew more important. Junior high school was terrible, and I needed the weekend to recover from the teasing, the beatings, anything involving math, and that time this girl said I was cute and then said some smart ass comment that I will relive in horror for the rest of my life. This is when I started sleeping a lot. There was really no reason to wake up. I had no friends, no girlfriends, and a huge bed.

Then, during the first half of high school, I remained friend/girlfriendless. The weekend started weighing on me, though, as I would spend the entire time in my room watching television. In 1992, I was depressed on Sunday nights before school started for the week. By 1999, I was depressed on Friday afternoons knowing I would have to spend the next two-and-a-half days alone, unintentionally being humiliated by my parents trying to force me to make friends. I can remember reading the TV Guide, and literally writing down an entire television-watching schedule for the weekend. I took Must See TV for its most literal connotation. I know Must See TV referred to Thursday night, but this is just an example. It got so bad, I can actually remember writing Caroline in the City into my schedule. If you have ever seen Caroline in the City, and somehow still haven’t killed yourself, you now understand, that after I have written over 200 self-loathing posts, sometimes chronicling unfathomable lows, how bad my life has been.

By the end of high school, I had friends. The weekend was fun again. I still didn’t have a girlfriend, but I did have some female friends, and sometimes I got to sit next to them in cars. I did have a few short-lived girlfriends, though, but they were terrible. Our relationships were short-lived, not their lives. They’re probably okay now, living out their horrible lives regretting ever sitting next to me in a car.

By early college, my obsessive-compulsive disorder and general anxiety started spiraling out of control. By this point, I would often lose track of what day it was, and could not discern between the week and the weekend. It all blended together in a pool of worry, sweat, tears, and pacing around the hall of my dorm. This lasted a few years until I transferred schools, and things started getting a lot better. However, switching schools brought me back home, and most of my friends were back in college. Life was okay again, but lonely. I would often spend the weekend with my family, which was still great.

After graduation, I finally somewhat completed getting my life together by losing weight and getting a great job. For a while, I disliked the weekend again. I liked/like my job a lot, and most of my friends still did not live in this city. During the weekends, I was so tired, I would just end up sleeping and pretty much spending the entire time alone again. I would try to get the Houston friends I have to meet me Fridays after work for happy hour, but this would prove difficult, as most of them have lives/relationships. Sometimes, I would go to a bar after work by myself for a while, go to dinner by myself, and go home for the evening.

I finally found a great girl, and things seem to be falling into place. The weekend is fun again, and the week is pretty swell as well. I still struggle with a lot of things, but I’m achieving some sort of balance or something. I say that while simultaneously making sure that I’m perfectly centered on my bed while constantly worrying that the last email I wrote didn’t have a period after the last sentence. I must now go lock and unlock my front door eight times.

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