Slumped and Single

Posted on 2025-04-03

I sat slumped with my back against the wall, deflated and defeated, my legs propped up on the vinyl bench in front of me. Tobi sat across from me in the booth. She had somehow wiggled a couple hours into her hectic mom-to-seven-kids schedule to figure out what was getting her pal Dan down. Christmas was still nearly four weeks away.

“Do you know who Charlotte Brontë is?” I said.

“No.”

“She wrote Jane Eyre.” I poked at my half eaten sandwich and huffed. “I don’t know why I’m so down,” I said in response to an earlier question she asked me.

“What about Jane Eyre?” Tobi said.

I then quoted the lady, secretly proud of how smart I sounded as I nailed it word for word. “The trouble is not that I am single and likely to stay single, but that I am lonely and likely to stay lonely.” I told her. “Brontë said that once.”

Again, just calling her Brontë made me feel like an intellectual badass.

I needed to feel something right then. I had slipped into a serious case of the single-person holiday blues, and I couldn’t figure out how to climb out.

This was my fourth Christmas in a row without someone by my side, and it was my worst one yet. Why I can’t get and keep a girlfriend at least until Human Rights Day is beyond me. Even some of my most perpetually single friends always seem to be able to wrangle up a temporary girlfriend or a boyfriend to get them through the holidays.

Each year, I am more astounded than the year before at the depression that sneaks its way in. It generally starts on Pie Night (which for me is the beginning of the holiday season), and doesn’t end until the New Years hangovers have worn off and kids are finally back to school.

Now, I think it’s important to note that I don’t generally suffer from depression. January 5^thish to November 20^thish of each year I largely am one of those Mr. Magoo, how are you, annoyingly upbeat people. I even walk around forcing the depression out of others with my silly and ridiculous wit, my voracious charm, and my unwillingness to let the world suck.

But good Lordie, the holidays are spiteful to my psyche. And like I said, they are getting worse.

My first Christmastime alone, I setup both of my big Christmas trees, one in each room. I hung lights. I decorated the house. I had Christmas music cranking. The depression set in, but later in the season, and it was mild. Nothing I couldn’t push aside and pretend didn’t exist.

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By Christmastime number two, I had been forced out of my house weeks before, barely keeping things afloat. I had given one of the Christmas trees to the local thrift store. I setup a tree, but no lights. I cranked a little Christmas music when I was feeling really down. And I remember I just felt sad, and in that depression I discovered that one of the sections of the tree had burnt out, so the day after Christmas, I drug the entire thing to the dumpster and sent it on its way. I do stupid stuff like that when I’m down. I’m sure I just had to change a single bulb or something.

By Christmastime number three, we had moved again. Downgraded to a tiny two-bedroom apartment. I remember sitting on my couch a lot that year, watching the screensaver on my television, drinking hot cocoa. It was Noah’s turn to be at his mom’s house on Christmas, so that weighed heavily in the back of my mind. After three days of staring at the same 12 pictures cycle every night, I went and bought a tiny little three foot tree and set it up. It helped a little, but not much.

And then there was this last Christmastime. I went from being so happy and feeling so good to just frustrated and depressed and alone, almost overnight. I did nothing to decorate for Christmas. No tree. No lights. No decorations. I didn’t even hang my wreath on the door. I went to a lot of movies. I also stared at that same revolving screensaver night after night. I can tell you exactly what every photo is.

A koala climbing a tree with her baby on her back. Two lionesses in a seemingly affectionate pose. A hippo and her baby poking their heads out of the floating foliage. An eagle, soaring through the morning mist. Elephants at a waterhole. A beautiful wild leopard walking down a game trail with her cub. Many more; you get the idea. Thank you National Geographic.

That was the majority of my yuletide. Just sitting. Watching. Refreshing Facebook every few seconds on my phone. Waiting for people to text me back.

Always waiting.

This year, I think because it was so bad, I tried to really figure out what it was that causes this to happen while it was actually happening.

And that’s where Brontë’s powerful words begin to take shape for me (did I just sound super smart? No? Dang.).

“The trouble is not that I am single and likely to stay single, but that I am lonely and likely to stay lonely.”

Those are truly eloquently perfect words.

I mean… God. I love being single. I love love love love love it.

I can fart in bed with wild abandon.

I can blow my money on whatever I want.

I can take off almost any time I like. Travel anywhere the wind blows me. See the world!

I get to make 100% of the parenting decisions when I’m with my kid.

I get to wake up when I want and go to bed when I want.

I get to go to whatever social functions I want.

I can drive any car that I want.

I can live in any house I want.

I can decorate everything exactly as I want it decorated.

I don’t have any in-laws to split holidays with!

I can believe anything I want.

I can live any lifestyle I want.

Yes, I love being single. I am happy being single. I am established, and confident, and successful, and content as a single man.

But still, I am lonely.

And as much as I hate getting yelled at for farting in bed, I love it.

As much as I hate making all my financial decisions with someone else, I love it.

As much as I hate having to share every part of my life with another person, I actually love it.

10.61 months out of every year are fantastically wonderful for me as a single man.

But there is that 1.39 months of every year when I am reminded of just how alone I actually am.

10.61 months out of every year, I have a wide variety of friendships. I can always find someone to hang out with.

10.61 months out of every year, I can always find someone to go on a date with.

10.61 months out of every year, my family is fairly available for hang-outs or outings.

10.61 months out of every year, I am so surrounded by so many people that I forget that I’m actually alone. As a major extrovert, my needs are met.

But then there is that 1.39 months of every year when I’m forced to face the emptiness that the most intimate part of my life is.

1.39 months out of every year, everyone just kind of disappears.

Oh, somehow you still see just about everyone during those 1.39 months. But more or less, people disappear.

Everyone has their own traditions. Everyone has their own family parties. Everyone has work parties. And neighborhood parties. And church parties. Everyone is out and about getting ready for Christmas, buying gifts, decorating, running around trying to cram it all in. Family becomes far more important to most people than it is all year long. Santa has to be visited. Family pictures have to be taken. Goodies have to be baked. School programs have to be attended. Carols have to be sung. Service has to be done. And in between it all, people still have to live their day to day lives. They still have to work, and maintain their homes, and meet all of their own needs.

And so at best, a single extrovert like me who relies so much on socializing with others to keep his sanity because he works inside and alone all day every day, becomes a third wheel to everyone else’s holiday mayhem. It’s not that friends and family don’t include their single friends anymore. It’s that they literally can only say, “hey we’re doing this, why don’t you join us!”

But, it’s more than just that. People quietly fade during the days too. The people who usually text and talk, don’t have time for it. Simple discussions or plan-making text sessions can take hours or days. Facebook traffic drops like a rock in a sludgy pond all month long until it finally all but disappears on Christmas Eve. Phone calls are cut short. People are late. Lines are super long. The world gets cold. And…

Depression sets in.

When this happens, people want to tell you that your depression means you’re broken.

“You have to learn how to be happy with yourself before you can be happy with someone else!”

Oh my God. If I have to hear even one more person say that to me during my annual Christmastime slump, America might just turn into Mexico with heads on spears and stuff.

“You have to learn how to be happy with yourself before you can be happy with someone else!”

Go ahead, say it again. I dare you. And PS, I hope you don’t value your testicles because they will soon be in a jar on my shelf.

“You have to learn how to be happy with yourself before you can be happy with someone else!”

Perhaps you didn’t hear me… I…

Oh shoot, I was being all murdery in my daydreams again, wasn’t I.

Haha. This is what holiday depression does.

But seriously. Don’t you think that that statement is a bit hyperbolic and that there are many more situations than just desperate people desperately seeking others to fill empty holes in their lives?

I don’t want someone to fill a hole.

I love my life. I love being single. I don’t have a hole there.

But I do have an open space beside me for someone to fill.

That’s all my seasonal depression is about. At least that’s what I’ve decided. Usually everyone else in my life is enough to mostly fill that empty space. They are there for me enough that I don’t notice the space is empty at all. And Christmastime just makes me have to see that space.

That space….

The space that no money, no things, no friends, and no family can ever truly fill.

No, it’s not a hole in me.

It’s just loneliness.

The reason I can’t get and keep a girlfriend is because I don’t just want any warm body filling the spot. I want the right warm body filling the spot.

The trouble is not that I am single and likely to stay single, but that I am lonely and likely to stay lonely.

That’s all.

People with holes try to patch over the pain of being single by filling those holes with people. Those with empty spaces beside them just long for someone they feel missing and they know the difference between the two. It’s why people with holes always seem to be able to find someone while people with empty spaces rarely fill them at all.

Thank goodness the holidays are over. I now have 10.61 months to be one of those Mr. Magoo, how are you, annoyingly upbeat people. I will walk around once more, forcing the depression out of others with my silly and ridiculous wit, my voracious charm, and my unwillingness to let the world suck.

I’m already back to that content zone of life. I know because I can feel it. The depression completely lifted right after New Years as it always does, and vanished like the darkness disappears before the sun.

And who knows. Maybe by next Pie Night I’ll be standing next to my fourth wheel. If not, then there’s always wine and chocolate and my favorite service activities to get me through it. That’s what ultimately got me through this time. Well, all of that and getting to spend a lot of time with my kid this year.