I’m lonely, but I don’t feel up to socializing. I don’t want to be alone, but the idea of making the rounds to see friends one last time is horribly depressing.
And, of course, I couldn’t frame the get togethers as my farewell tour. I’d have to talk about tv shows and new restaurants and holiday plans as though they still mattered me.
I have a feeling that if I go out in public I will just burst out into tears.
I cry at work. When I feel it coming on I go to the ladies room. If there is someone else in there I work hard to stifle my sobs.
At some point someone is bound to notice. If someone asks what do I tell them?
I went to lunch with a few co-workers the other day. Out of morbid curiosity I asked the group, “What would you do if you knew you had less than a month to live?”
Most of the answers were stereotypical aspirations for adventure and wildness. One guy talked about taking revenge on everyone who has ever wronged him, but I think (hope) he was kidding.
When it was my turn I said, “Binge watch TV, eat a lot of ice cream, and cry myself to sleep each night.” Everyone laughed as though I wasn’t telling the truth.
Yes, I should go out. I should be social. I shouldn’t just hole up in this house every night waiting to die. But tonight that’s what I’m doing, just like last night and probably tomorrow.
What happens next? Read the next part of the story here.