It’s easier to be depressed on a Monday than a Friday.
I don’t feel quite as alone in my unshiny world on Mondays.
Scratch the surface and there’s no comparing us, but the frowns and moans Monday mornings motivate in most people I come across make me feel a little less alone, a little more normal.
I know it’s selfish, but seeing other people going around in the doldrums on Monday, with the weight of the working week to come on their shoulders, in some way makes my load a little easier to carry.
I can pretend we’re all in the same boat.
I know we’re not though.
The good days are the worst. The conventional good days, that is. The ones we've been socially conditioned to think are happy ones. Like the first day of holidays. Like summertime. Like Christmas Day. Like birthdays. Like Fridays.
I hate Fridays.
If Mondays allow me to fool myself I'm just like everyone else, Fridays show me that’s a lie.
I want to join in the collective good mood, I really do. I get the smiles. The working week is over. The weekend is just hours away. Friday for most people is the gateway to about 64 hours of freedom, and the chance for all kinds of fun.
I get the Friday feeling in theory.
I just don’t get it in reality.
It doesn't work out that way for me.
I'm not even sure Friday is covered by a sheen that’s any less grey than Monday to be honest. And even if I believe for a minute that it is, the Friday feeling doesn't stand a chance against the knowledge that any let-up is fleeting, and bad times are just around the corner.
And so Fridays are when I feel most alone, and when the tsunami of bad feelings are most likely to swallow me up.
