There’s this thing about Sunday that always makes me feel… a bit… no, very depressed. It’s not that I hate Sunday. It’s just that whenever I realize today is Sunday, I feel like today is “the end”. By the end I don’t mean like the end of the world or anything like that. “The end” here literally means the end of the week. Yes, maybe some of you would say, “So what’s with it? It’s just the end of a week, there would be other Sundays coming. No big deal.”
But for me, it is a big deal.
If I put my thoughts about Sunday into words for you to read and understand, it’s not going to be enough. There are more emotions and pressures that I feel that lie beyond any logic. So even if you do understand why I always feel depressed everytime Sunday comes, that doesn’t mean it can be empathized by you, or in other words, you may not feel the same way (or maybe some of you can empathize, in a way I would never comprehend, who knows.)
But I’m going to put them into words anyway.
In a week, the happiest I would be is on Friday. Friday means, “There’s still Saturday coming, and my work is almost done. I can be all like it’s a wonderful tiiiime!” It’s just very relieving. In a normal circumstance, my happiest point would be at Friday night (which probably is also most people’s happiest point, so I guess many of you reading this would understand the feeling I get during Friday night).
And then when Saturday morning comes, my happiness meter would decrease a little bit. I would still be the me who can easily and lightly smile and doesn’t get to think about homeworks and/or exams or other responsibilities. I would still be able to lie down and relax. But the thought of what day tomorrow is would prevent me from celebrating too much. So I’d say Saturday is always fine and calm. I enjoy Saturday. I do.
But then… dun dun dun!
Sunday comes. In the morning my feeling would still be, umm, light, or calm, probably it’s the remaining feeling from yesterday. I would have breakfast just fine, probably also work on things that I have the responsibility to do if I’m in the mood. But as the sun slowly rolls to the west, I become more and more depressed to the point that I would do nothing at all, just curling up in my bed with some of Sigur Ros’ songs playing, thinking about too many things. The thoughts jump around really fast from one thing to another, and mostly are about depressing things. They don’t have to be sad or bad things, just the things that make me feel so little, so useless, so fragile, and so low. I would think about the meaning of life, my dreams, my flaws that make my dreams seem impossible to achieve, big mysteries of the world, the things that I have done, my sins, sweet memories of the past that I know I can never relive again, the future in general, what kind of person I was, am, and going to be, my relationships with family and friends, and many more. I’m sure many people occasionally think about these things as well, but I doubt they do that every single week, in the same day, at the exact same hours. Oh, right, I forgot to mention, by the exact same hours here I mean at nightfall and especially during the sunless hours. Sometimes I would cry, sometimes I can hold my tears inside by “running away” into the entertaining world of movies or funny stuffs on Youtube. And the additional depressing thought of Monday, which is also a very depressing thought for me, makes me more and more afraid of Sunday. No, not afraid. More like, a very bad feeling I can’t describe in words.
I just wish I wasn’t this melancholic. I just wish I wasn’t this manic-depressive, and could be more acceptable towards every single day of the week, equally, no matter how bad or tiring it is without being so depressed. However, I can’t help but to drown in these indescribable feelings.
And I’m sorry if my writing doesn’t really seem to be focused. I get distracted easily, even when I re-read and re-correct it multiple times.