The 21st Hour

A pain that waits and stays

Debbie, a 26-year-old lady working in an office. She had always wanted a nice, decent job since she was a little girl, and now she has been working at it for over 6 years. And to believe she has enjoyed every day of it. She is known as joyful and bright as the morning sunshine at her workplace. Always overworking with a smile and a jovial character. More of a people’s person.

She has been working all day. Doing all that was necessary, even those things that were not in her plans. She was energetic for the day like every other day. Smiled before drinking her coffee. Singing while she was eating. It was a beautiful day for her, as every other day has been.

Until the 21st hour. She got home feeling drained out of her life. Sitting down on the bed, forgetting she left the door open, and honestly, she wasn’t even concerned about that. The depressing delusion of “everything is fine” has worn off from her consciousness. She sits alone, thinking and replaying how awful her day has gone, even though throughout the day she never felt bad. Her brain kept feeding scenarios of how bad she acted towards others and herself, like the little coffee spilled on her clothes or the sunlight facing directly into her office and not her co-workers, who she thinks at this time deserve it more.

The 21st hour. The time she falls intoxicated by her own head. The remaining 3 hours left in the day, she goes down in tears, crying till the next day. Crying for reasons no one understands, not even her. Crying herself to sleep.

The next day, she wakes up brighter than yesterday. Happier than yesterday. Kisses the cat before leaving for work. Bought two coffees. Gave one to her co-worker, who obviously is her closest friend. Went to a new restaurant to eat something different, something so sweet. She could care less about her weight. Spends 21 hours filled with joy. Had beautiful dreams while she napped.

But on the 21st hour, she gets home drunk, stopped at a bar before coming home. Tried to get anyone to get under her pants. Left her purse at the bar. Slept straight on her vomit.

Only to wake up with a smile on her face. Planning on having the best day of her life, as she does every other day.

She lives in a previous life. One where pain comes looking for her without invites, and joy, which has stayed all day, always seems to leave the door open when stepping out.

If you are like me, suffering from the 21st hour, let’s get to be friends. Yours might be less than 21 hours or more than 21 hours, but we have a moment in time where all is lost, and we have nothing else to do but to feel awful.