So Halloween is over. Like all good things, it had to come to an end, and it came all too soon (that’s what she said). With any loss comes grief, and, trust me when I say that you’re not alone.
“You’re never alone.” -God
Shock and Denial
So you wake up on November 1st, and your first thought is, “What happened last night?” We’ve all been there. As you slowly peel your head off of your pillow, the faint smell of cigarette smoke and booze hits your nostrils. That’s when you realize you need to shower. You eventually stand up and take notice of the day. It is Saturday, November 1st. October is officially behind you. You’re flabbergasted and refuse to accept the news. “HOW IS IT ALREADY NOVEMBER?” you think to yourself. “I can’t even,” you say as you mosey to the bathroom. “I… literally…can’t…even.” You turn on the shower, throw in a Lush bath bomb, and watch the previous night’s decisions flush down the drain, similarly to the joy that the month of October brings you.
Pain and Guilt
You step out of the shower, and the first thing that happens is you slip on the wet tile and fall. Pain. As you sit on the floor, you quietly begin to weep over the frustration of falling and the realization of how many Spider-Mans you kissed last night. You immediately begin to question every decision you made, from your drink of choice to the amount of glitter you sprayed in your hair (which didn’t come out, by the way, even after the lather-rinse-repeat bullshit). “Pull it together, self,” you say as you ever so carefully make your way to a standing position, with a wide stance, as if you were a babe learning to walk for the first time.
Anger and Bargaining
You spot the glitter. “Oh my GOD,” you yell, as you angrily brush your locks. There’s still mascara under your eyes, and you legitimately have a pain in your ass from wiping out moments prior. Time slows down as you meticulously part your hair on the left side (better for the “bang swoop” we all long for). You put on some clothes, otherwise the walk down the hall into the kitchen would be super awkward. As you pull your jack-o-lantern pajama shorts over your bruised knees (don’t even want to know why), you begin to talk to Jesus. “Jesus,” you say in your most innocent-sounding voice, “can you please forgive me for what happened last night? I was… I was under the influence, Lord. I didn’t mean it.” You pause. No answer. “I swear, I will NEVER drink again if you just pull a Time Lord and send me back to last night so I can make different decisions PLEASE DAMMIT PLEASE. Amen.”
Depression, Reflection and Loneliness
Jesus didn’t answer, so now it’s time to drown your sorrows in coffee and bacon that you have to, somehow, prepare yourself because going out in public looking the way you do is just entirely unacceptable. You pour the water into your Keurig and pop in your favorite Green Mountain Dark Magic blend. You over pour the water and now the coffee is too weak. You drink it anyway as you fry some bacon in a skillet you forgot to grease. The bacon burns, and you attempt to call out for your roommate for bacon-cooking assistance… then you realize she isn’t home. There you are, drinking weak coffee and eating burnt bacon in your out-of-season pajama shorts alone in your kitchen. You’ve had better days.
The Upward Turn
It’s 5pm at this point, and you’re four episodes into Season 3 of Gilmore Girls. You haven’t left the sofa since the bacon incident… and then something dawns on you. “I have to pee.” You slide off of the sofa with a little more umph than you had earlier in the day, and you walk to the bathroom. As you’re pulling your pajamas back up, you stop halfway through. Another thought crosses your mind. “I need to get my shit together.” You continue to clothe yourself, your hope rising with every inch of your pajama shorts. You look at yourself in the mirror, examine your air-dryed hair and slightly puffy eyes from excessive Netflix-watching, and smile your prettiest smile. It hurts a little, but it makes you laugh. Hope. You have hope. No, really, you have a friend named Hope who will totally sympathize, so you text her and ask her what she’s up to. “Re-watching OITNB for the eighth time and praying Mona’s shows up on my doorstep magically. You?” Is that..a… tear? No, it’s just a glimmer in your eye. A glimmer of hope. A glimmer for Hope.
Reconstruction and Working Through
OFF WITH THE PJ’S! YOU HAVE PLANS. You have a pep in your step, a twinkle in your eye, and a rumbling in your stomach for HUMMUS. You flit around your room, laughing in the face of pity. You jump into your jeans and do the little hopping maneuver to get them to go over your hips. You sift around your drawers for a shirt. “A plain, white tee will do.” And a plain, white tee, it is. You put on your Fossil watch for good measure, even though the battery in it has been broken for months now. You’re regaining your composure. Color is coming back into your cheeks. You text Hope that you’re “leaving in ten”.
You give yourself one last glance in your bathroom mirror and spray yourself with that perfume from Victoria’s Secret that makes you feel a little bit sexy, because you’ve got your groove back. You grab your keys from the kitchen table and slip on your sandals. You open the front door for the first time today and the sunlight hits your face. “Ow,” you say, as you make your way down the front steps and towards your car. With a double-click of the unlock button on your keychain, you open your driver’s side door and plop onto the seat. You put the key into the ignition (dirty), and put your car in reverse. As you turn to look behind you, something sparkly in the backseat catches your eye. It’s your bra. From October 31st. When you dressed as Madonna. A moment of shock sweeps over you. “What did I…? WHO did I…?” You almost begin to panic, but it’s put on hold when your phone dings. It’s Hope. “I’m here, bitch. Your Lebanese tea will be waiting for you. Xoxo.” Your heart rate slows down and a gleaming smile sweeps across your face.
So, Halloween is over, and you might not remember 3/4 of it, but you’re young, you live in New Orleans, and dressing (and undressing) like Madonna is really only socially acceptable one day out of the year. “Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened.” Because when you’re feeling at your worst, as if everything has been lost and forgotten (kind of like your bra), just remember that you always have next year.
And you always, always have Hope. Unless that b-word blacks out somewhere, then you should maybe try talking to Jesus again.