Circling the Drain

June 29, 2022
Istanbul, Turkey

(A rambling message expressing feelings that arose at a time as I was trying to cope with living in a strange place without a local social network. Don’t worry, it’s not a current issue)

Yet another Friday night, laying on the couch
Watching Netflix, scrolling the same tired social media stories, waiting for something

Something to happen, some kind of invite, something to do, someone to talk to, someone to meet, something to feel

But nothing, nothing
Nothing but the loneliness
Nothing but the sunset he can’t see

The light disappears slowly behind the buildings blocking his view of anything, anything interesting. Buildings filled with strangers who don’t speak his language, don’t care about him, don’t know he exists

He knows people, other people, people in other places, people in the past, people involved in their own lives

Here in the city, people, people he’s met, people he’s lost, people doing things with other people but not with him

Friends, he would call them, but others say acquaintances. Others are probably correct. He thinks people who smile and chat are friends, and he doesn’t understand

Why he’s not important like they are important to him

The wailing begins again, wailing he doesn’t comprehend
The city is filled with it and nobody notices anymore
But he cannot ignore, cannot block it out, cannot escape
It causes violent rage to enter his soul
A soul which is darkening day by day

Another Saturday evening, the day wasted again because no plans made and he no longer takes pleasure in exploring alone

He looks yet again at the message apps. Sees who’s online at this hour. Doesn’t know who to bother. Not her. Not him. Not them.

Messages unanswered, messages filled with platitudes, messages that fill him with resentment

They’re trying to be helpful, to be positive, to hold out a life ring, but the life rings are made of concrete and simply drag him down deeper

He no longer feels confident enough to express his agony because who wants to hear it and why can’t he just disappear

A knife, a rope, a bottle of pills, a bullet…
These are his constant imaginary friends
But not the balcony because he fears heights, so stupid and irrational, that

Another Sunday and nothing has changed
He thinks of the trail of hurt he has caused and believes his own pain and despair is deserved but he’s wrong

He blames the city but the problem is rooted within
He blames the pandemic but the problem remains within
He knows this and when others point out that he can change what’s in his glass half full he is resentful
They can shove those platitudes up their ass

A handful of pills, step in front of a train, jump from a ferry, except the water is cold

Another night and day wasted because he’s too cowardly to end it

Or to do something


If you or someone you know are experiencing suicidal thoughts, please dial 988 in the USA, or choose from this list of numbers in other countries: