I awoke early, but went back to sleep. Though I desperately needed to shower (I suspected that my odor was now discernable by others), I didn’t have the time. When I ran into Diego, I wished that I had at least had time to brush my teeth. I could taste my bad breath. On the train, I just wanted to be close to him. His usual brief hand-holding didn’t seem like enough. I felt needy, vulnerable. I didn’t like it. I wanted to be held, comforted, touched. I’m sure it’s just because I’m sick and that it won’t last, but I don’t like this. Being sick is bad enough, but the accompanying emotions are worse. I told Diego that I hadn’t smoked this morning. It was true, I hadn’t. I had finished my last cigarette the night before and was going to make another attempt at quitting today. He said he was worried about me. That he didn’t want me getting cancer.
At the connecting station, a pair of police officers woke up a man sleeping on a bench, presumably homeless. Diego seemed concerned that they just kicked him off the bench without directing him to the nearest homeless shelter. Or better yet, taking him there. The thought never occurred to me. I wondered why it didn’t. It was logical and would prevent repeat offenses.
I barely got up the big hill on my walk to work from the train station. I realized I couldn’t work a full day today. I was already at work and I had to finish making Christmas presents with the kids in my morning classes, but I could definitely take the afternoon off. I had to be in tomorrow to finish Christmas presents with another set of kids. I remembered that I was told in student teaching that, as an art teacher, you do not call in the last week before winter break. I left early, cancelling my afternoon classes.
On my walk back to the station, I thought about smoking. I wanted a cigarette. It seemed like smoking was my last vice, after food. It was my last rebellious act that could make me feel better when it felt like real life was out to get me. Was it an addictive personality? Was it something to do with my depression that gave me this need to do something outside societal norms?
On the way home, I bought another pack of cigarettes and smoked one. When I got home, I texted Diego and went to sleep. I awoke to my phone ringing a few hours later. It was Diego asking how I was doing. He offered some advice and said he wished he had a car so he could come and help me. That was sweet. He then said that he even tried to borrow his friend’s car, but he couldn’t. That was sweeter. I only had one more day to go before my winter break. I just have to force myself to work tomorrow, then I’ll be able to rest up and heal.
I went out and got different pills for my cold, per Diego’s advice. Also per his advice, I bought some chicken soup. I ate all of it when I got home, but still felt hungry. I fell asleep in front of the television and awoke to Diego’s video call. I called him back and he was shirtless, lying in bed. He quickly pulled up the covers. We got disconnected and he called right back. He talked to me for maybe 15 minutes and promised to buy me some theraflu tomorrow. I didn’t really have the brain power for any kind of conversation and can’t remember much of what was said other than inquiries about each other’s days.
After we hung up, his behavior struck me as odd. Why would he have video called me at 9:30 at night when he knew I was sick and likely was sleeping? Why did he quickly pull up the blanket to cover his shirtless body? Was he calling someone else? Did he call me by accident?
These questions bothered me for the next few hours. I was predisposed to trust him, generally. For some reason, I was inclined to the opposite tonight. I talked to Kevin about it. I even questioned why Diego wouldn’t have even had a girlfriend for the past three years. Kevin reassured me by saying that Diego was waiting for someone special and that I was special to Diego. I was afraid to trust Diego and afraid to get hurt by him. I realized that I had two choices, I could decide to trust him or I could decide not to. I had no way to check up on him, which was the only other option that came to mind. Could trusting someone be a choice? He had done nothing to break my trust that I knew of. It’s entirely possible he was just getting into bed when he answered the phone. I decided to trust him. Was I being paranoid by not trusting him to begin with or was I being naïve for trusting him too much? I contemplated these questions as I drifted off to sleep around midnight.
———————–
Today I gave up my lack of trust and fear of pain.
Today I’m grateful for sleep, a warm bed, and my friend Kevin.
I did nothing kind for others today.
I spent 20 minutes in nature today.
I spent $12 on cigarettes and $12 on food.
I slept for about 6 hours last night plus 4 hours during the day.
I did not meditate today.
I exercised for 20 minutes today.
I did not follow my diet today.
I did not clean or straighten today.
I was not showered and I did not brush my teeth today.
I was too sick to discern my mood today, but I think it was good. My temperament was good.
Depressimatic Me 