Forgot your password?

We just sent you an email, containing instructions for how to reset your password.

Sign in

  • Day

    I woke up today reeling from a long night of tossing and turning having not rested so I was still tired. I got ready for work, today was going to be a good day I told myself in the mirror. I walked to the bus whistling with excitement as the day ahead had endless possibilities. I greeted almost everyone on the bus and sat next to a charming woman. We started talking about all sorts of things from why the weather was so great but we have to work indoors, to her hopes of being a professional chef one day, to her shady boyfriend who she loves but does not like. When I got off the bus I left her cheerful and ready to conquer the day.

    I whizzed through meetings and calls, everything went well, closed a few deals, made my boss happy for once, had an awesome lunch with my friend, who was telling me about his pending nuptials. He was to set wed his long-time girlfriend and I was to be one of his groomsmen. I can’t recall the afternoon much, it was quick and painless. The only thing I remember was missing my mom’s call. I would call her when I got home.

    I joyously left work headed over to my local pub to meet a woman I fancied. We had been friends for a while but we started wanting more than friendship. We drank and talked. She was about to resign from her job to start he own company, she was going to be her own boss. We ate and danced a bit and then I walked her home. She told me that she wanted more of me, wanted to see more of me, wanted me to let my guard down, wanted me to be me. I smiled and cracked jokes, making her cry with laughter. That was me, her jester, her Jokes Bond, License to Joke, I knew more about her than she knew about me and that was fine with me. I kissed her good night and left. Today was a good day I thought.

    Night

    I got home, welcomed by envelopes full of bills and more bills. I paid them no mind as I undressed and got ready for bed. As I lay down waiting for sleep to whisk me away to my slumber, my best-worst friend arrived, Depression. He came and sat at foot of my bed and looked at me. He asked me how my day was, I pretended not to hear him and I covered my head with my sheets. He begun to talk, he told me that I didn’t sleep well last night because failure is a cruel master, it demands nothing more than reliving all my failures night after night. Depression, then said to me, when you look in the mirror you must see a horrible man, full of nothing and empty of joy and hope. He walked me through my day telling me the girl in bus thought I was a fool and weird, just because I am a fool and weird and that everyone can see that behind my shallow smile. He told me that my friend was doing me a favour by making me a groomsman for his wedding. My friend, he said, didn’t really care much for me, he just felt sorry for me. He told me that not picking up the phone when my mom called was me missing a call with reality, that she would tell me that I was not living up to my potential, that I was a failure, no wife and no kids. Depression then turned to me and said that my friend, the woman I loved could not love me once she saw the real me. I was not up to task of love, my love wouldn’t be enough for her and once she saw that she would relegate me to the all too familiar purgatory that is the Friend Zone.

    Depression was always there, he never let up, and he was consistent and committed to my misery. Medication, drugs, alcohol were as ineffective as tears and sorrow, and therapy was more a journal session with another human being, listing all my failures and looking for solutions. Even the relief of a breakthrough was short lived. Why couldn’t death come and rescue me, wouldn’t it be better than living with my best-worst friend, Depression.
    • Share

    Connected stories:

About

Collections let you gather your favorite stories into shareable groups.

To collect stories, please become a Citizen.

    Copy and paste this embed code into your web page:

    px wide
    px tall
    Send this story to a friend:
    Would you like to send another?

      To retell stories, please .

        Sprouting stories lets you respond with a story of your own — like telling stories ’round a campfire.

        To sprout stories, please .

            Better browser, please.

            To view Cowbird, please use the latest version of Chrome, Safari, Firefox, Opera, or Internet Explorer.