I wonder

I wonder what to say that I've not already said. What new thoughts do I have to think? I think no new thoughts, only recycled ones. Over and over I say to myself, I cannot go on. Over and over I binge and make myself uncomfortable by overeating. Over and over. Nothing changes. Everything stays the same.

Is it a choice, or is it my inescapable fate to stay like this? After watching "The Book Thief" tonight, I am inspired anew to write, to describe my experience of depression for myself and for others, for others who are caught in a similar prison of darkness. To put words to the feelings of misery that both cloud my mind and strike my soul with spear-like precision.

After watching the film, I am also tempted to call the man with whom I went on a blind date some weeks ago, the man who asked so few questions. Was he so wrong for me? He knows now, I am told, that he asked too few questions, displaying hardly any true interest in me. To call him and say I thought he was interesting and would he be up for getting coffee with me - what do I have to lose but my pride? He was not boring, as so many men are. Should I do it? Tonight?

If not tonight, when?

Not tonight. Tomorrow, tomorrow after work. Tomorrow when I have been doing something productive, instead of sitting at home doing nothing.

Maybe tomorrow. What will I say? What if he is dating someone else? Am I sure I can handle another date as exhausting as the last one?

The true reason I want to call him is that I am lonely. I don't like the thought of online dating, and he is my only real, in the flesh prospect. He thought I was interesting too, and attractive, which is a miracle. Or maybe it was the red lipstick I was wearing that evening.

I wonder if I have the guts to call him.