What I’m saying is that you and I and the 3.4 billion dudes in like Indian and Bolivia will all someday encounter the awful experience of being sad.
Sad. Say it with me. Sad. I’ve been sad before. Hit with that exhaustive, life-shattering bout of depression that you feel will never end. If only it happened to me at a time where there was a guide on the internet to get me through. Oh, look. Here’s one now. Shall we peruse it?
Can you please put the used Kleenex away first? We have more. We are not poor.
Okay. Why are you sad? Is it because you walked in on your girlfriend blowing the vice king of Pi Kappa Phi five days before graduation and now feel alone and afraid and scared of the world you’re about to enter? Does life seems awful and daunting? Well… it is. And if you’re struggling with that conceit significantly at the age of 22, you probably aren’t going to make it through the next six decades. Your only real option is to end things. Slitting your wrists is probs a little drastic. Can I suggest an opiate overdose? I bet the first 90 minutes is awesome. Or fraught with peril at the thought of your own encroaching death. Maybs a drink to take the edge off?
Which raises an important question. Is there alcohol in your house? That’s fantastic, because alcohol is renowned for its pain-numbing effects. Did you know legitimate doctors used to give it to patients as an analgesic before performing massive surgery? Look how far we’ve come. Now they knock you out for days before cutting out your kidney and swapping in a Brita filter. So drink. A lot. If it’s good e-fucking-nough for a soldier from the Civil War getting his leg amputated, then it better be good enough for you. Unless you are sad because you are about to lose your leg due to diabetes. Maybs irony though?
Also, are you alone in your house? Good. Stay there. No one wants to see you in this blubbering, obnoxious state. Unless it’s being lonely that’s causing this sadness. Then call some friends. Are they not answering? I’m guessing that’s because you aren’t the guy who always has drugs. I bet they’re all hanging out with him and none of them want to answer because they know you’ll come over and somehow you get even sadder when you’re coked up. You probably won’t even offer a 20-spot. So start being the person that always has drugs on him. People like that guy.
Are you crying right now? Why. We’re at a bar. What’s that? Erica just told you she’s actually in love with Phillip? I don’t care. These people are fictional, or even if they are real to you, they don’t matter to me. And one day they won’t matter to you. But what will is that time you cried in public. No one forgets that. The only person who should see you cry is your cat. Ha. Trick question. Or… trick statement, I guess. Because a cat isn’t a person. And the guy who owns a cat is the guy who cries. Get a dog and when you feel kinda sad take it on a long walk. Every problem fixed. Except for the cat. I’m sure there’s a kill shelter somewhere near you. See if they’ll do a swap. The cat for the new dog. That way, they still get to kill something and you’ve retained the karmic balance of the universe.
You didn’t get rid of the cat, did you? Please stop reading this. Go see a therapist. Why the fuck didn’t you mention this at the beginning? Could have saved of us all a lot of time. A guy who owns a cat. SMDH.
Follow D.C. on Twitter and read more of his work at Meeting Girls on Metro.
[Crying guy image via ShutterStock]
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