I Hate Weekends

The weekend is something that I am pretty sure most every person I know looks forward to. There is even a lovely song about working for it.  It means no work (usually), seeing friends, gettin' crunk (ha!) etc. But it's been only semi recently that the weekend signifies something positive for me. For a solid two, two and a half years, I DREADED the weekend.

Anyone who has had to stay in the hospital for a long amount of time can say that weekends mean the absence of visitors, doctors, noise, everything. At first I was ok with this. It was almost a relief to be alone, sitting in bed, and resting. I almost didn't mind not having any interruptions. But shortly after that it was dreadful. I cannot say that every weekend was like this. There were some that I  had company which helped tremendously. But there were those 2 days when I had no visitors, no doctors checking on me, no therapy. It was just me alone with my own thoughts, which believe me, at that time was a dangerous thing.

Things didn't get that much better when I moved home. Once again, the weekend meant quiet. No therapy; no workouts; no friends around to keep me company. Once again, the weekend was void of all things busy or distracting. And it didn't change that much when I moved back to New York. When I returned, it was easy to think about my life before my brain injury, when Friday night, Saturday, and Sunday were motivation to get me through a long week (when I wasn't working). But the second time around it was different. Not only did my closest friends trickle out of the city, moving around the United States, and my boyfriend (now husband) lived in Memphis, I learned that I was different. I had new limitations. I could no longer live the way that I used to live: full of friends, a boyfriend, and a care-free attitude.  Soon my weekends were filled with me only talking to the people at Starbucks and maybe the grocery store. Don't get me wrong, I love, and need, a little bit of "me time" but when it's consistent, t gets a little lonely.

NYC street fair on a Sunday afternoon in the early fall

I don't speak in absolutes (as a wise man once advised). Not all my weekends were dreadful. Obviously I had plenty of good times during the end of the week, looking forward to them. But I would say, on the whole, the weekend was always something I hated. Recently however, I have once again returned to the familiar life that I once knew. Between my husband, new good friends, and just me feeling better about my own self and life, I look forward to the weekends again. And if I am all alone, my thoughts aren't so dangerous anymore.