On Giving Up

It’s been almost a year since I’ve seen my family, hugged anyone, met friends at a bar, lingered in a store, written in a coffee shop, had dinner in someone’s house. But so what? I’m lucky my family is safe and healthy. I’m lucky we’re all alive. I’m lucky I’ve been able to stay home, have groceries delivered, take walks, order books. I’m lucky.

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And yet, some days lately I just want to give up. I don’t even know what giving up would entail. Staying in bed all day? Drinking until I pass out? Taking unnecessary risks?

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I don’t do any of those things. Yet. But I did eat half a pan of gingerbread standing up at the stove. I did kick some rolls of Christmas wrapping paper around in my office and stomp on an Amazon box and yell “I hate you!” at the empty tape dispenser. I did start to cry about the drab, ribbon-less wreath on my front gate and how I don’t have a dog and how that probably means I’m incapable of love and also unlovable. And then I started an antidepressant, something I’ve resisted for months. I want to be strong. To be tough. To not need human contact. But it looks like it’s going to be summer before we all get vaccines, and I evidently gave up being tough today. Tomorrow, I’ll get back to it. I’ll take a walk. I’ll call some friends. I’ll take my antidepressant. But tonight I’m crying about my imaginary dog, how many Weight Watcher points are in gingerbread and the fucking Christmas decorations. It’s the only time I’ve agreed with Melania.

Nikki Hardin is a writer of stories, musings, and memories. Her poetry has been published in Riverteeth Journal. She was the founder and publisher of skirt!, a monthly women’s magazine in Charleston, South Carolina. You can reach her at nikki@thedailynikki.com.

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