When Monday Feels Like Drowning

6:50 AM. The alarm’s been going off for nine minutes. I know because I counted. I watched the minutes flip on the phone screen from my pillow, face half-pressed into the fabric, and I didn’t move. Not because I was tired. I was tired, yeah, but that’s not really it. It’s more like — my body just refused. Like it already knew what was coming and decided upfront, no, we’re not doing this.

I hit snooze. Then I hit snooze again. Then I told myself “okay this is the last one, I promise” and hit it a third time. The bed felt okay. The pillow smelled like my own hair from two nights ago and I didn’t care. The room was quiet. Outside I could hear the garbage truck doing its slow crawl down our street, that low hydraulic whine that means somebody else’s Monday is already happening.

My roommate was already in the kitchen. I could smell coffee. I could hear the toaster click down. I lay there another full minute, not sleeping, just… existing horizontally. The thing people don’t tell you about adult Mondays is that the dread starts the night before. Sunday at like 9 PM I felt it creep in. Like the second I brushed my teeth and thought about tomorrow, my whole chest got heavier. I didn’t say anything to my roommate. I just closed my laptop slower than I needed to and went to bed at 10:15, which is early for me, except I didn’t fall asleep until midnight.

I got up eventually. Pulled on a hoodie. Same jeans I wore Friday. Didn’t even check the mirror. Walked into the kitchen and my roommate goes, “rough morning?” and I just said “yeah” in a voice that sounded like gravel. She handed me a mug without asking. Black, no sugar, the way I drink it when my stomach’s already tight. I held it with both hands and didn’t drink it for a while.

The subway entrance at 7:38 AM was already packed. I always forget how packed it gets. Every Monday I act surprised, like this is the first time I’m seeing fifty people in suits all staring at their phones with the same dead-eye expression. I squeezed through the turnstile with my backpack sideways so it wouldn’t knock anyone. A woman in front of me sneezed and I flinched. I don’t know why. I just did.

I’m not going to lie, the train car smelled like wet coat and hot coffee and somebody’s perfume from a sample bottle. I held the overhead bar and watched the stations tick by. My stop is the seventh one. I counted them the way I count anything on Mondays — like if I’m focused on a number, the ride ends faster. It doesn’t. It just makes me feel like I did something.

I got to my desk at 8:47. Thirteen minutes late, technically. My manager didn’t say anything but I could feel her look when I walked in. You know that look. The one that doesn’t say “you’re late” but says “I noticed.” I dropped my bag, logged in, and the inbox had forty-seven unread emails. Forty-seven. I didn’t open them. I just sat there. I opened Slack and saw three messages from before I even left the house. I closed Slack. I opened it again. I closed it again.

I typed one email back. Then I went to the bathroom and stood in the stall for four minutes doing nothing. I scrolled Instagram. I watched a reel of a golden retriever learning to swim. I didn’t want to go back to my desk. My hands were a little cold. That’s the thing — when I’m stressed, my hands get cold. My doctor said it’s anxiety. I said “yeah I know.” She said “have you tried.” I said “yeah.” She said “okay.” That was the whole conversation.

There’s this moment around 10:30 AM where Monday stops being a concept and starts being a real thing. The morning fog burns off and you’re just… in it. The meetings are scheduled. The to-do list is real. The Slack pings don’t stop. You can’t float anymore. You have to actually be a person with a job and answers and a face that looks like it’s not falling apart.

I spilled coffee on my keyboard at 10:42. Not a lot. Just a few drops. But I stared at it for a weird long time. Like the drops were moving slow. Nothing was moving slow. I just was. My colleague Marcus goes, “you good?” and I said “yeah just clumsy” and he laughed and went back to his screen. I wiped it with my sleeve. The keys were a little sticky. I typed a sentence and the ‘e’ felt soft. I didn’t fix it.

Lunch was at 12:15. I ate a sandwich at my desk because I didn’t want to deal with the elevator line. I have a friend who goes outside for lunch every day, even in winter, and I used to think that was insane. Now I think maybe she’s the only one who’s figured something out. I chewed and stared at a spreadsheet. I didn’t taste anything. That’s not a metaphor. I genuinely didn’t taste the turkey.

I called my mom at 1:00. I don’t know why. I just did. She picked up and said “what’s wrong, you’re never awake this early” and I laughed even though nothing was funny. I said “mom I’m drowning” and she said “you’re not drowning, you’re just at work” and I said “yeah that’s what drowning feels like” and she went quiet for a second. Then she said “do you want me to send you some money for lunch.” I said no. She sent $20 anyway. That’s moms.

The afternoon was three meetings. One was useful. One was a guy reading slides out loud. One was my manager asking “does anyone have blockers” and six people said no when they clearly had blockers. I had a blocker. I didn’t say it. I just wrote it in my private notes: “blocked. just blocked. don’t know what to do.” Then I closed my notes and smiled at the camera.

4:48 PM. I started shutting down. Closed tabs. Emptied the trash. Filed four things I didn’t need to file just to feel like I was ending something. My inbox was down to nine unread. That’s still nine unread. That’s still nine things waiting for me tomorrow at 6:50 when the alarm goes off and I count the minutes again.

I walked out at 5:03. The subway was less crowded. I got a seat. I leaned my head against the window and watched the tunnel walls blur. A kid across from me was drawing on a tablet with the brightness all the way down. I wanted to ask him what he was drawing. I didn’t.

I got home at 5:45. My roommate was on the couch with takeout already. She goes, “Thai?” and I said “yes please” and that was the longest sentence I had said in about three hours. She ordered me the pad see ew. I changed into sweatpants. I didn’t talk about my day. She didn’t ask.

I ate on the couch. My legs were sore. My shoulders were sore. My jaw was sore from clenching, which I didn’t even realize I was doing until I tried to take a bite and my mouth didn’t open all the way. I sat there and watched some show about people buying houses. I wasn’t really watching. I was just being in a room with another person and remembering that I was a human.

I thought about texting my friend Jake. He’s been through this. He’s been through worse — he got laid off last year and he told me the Mondays after that were the worst of his life. He said “you just gotta get through the first hour.” I thought about that. The first hour. I don’t know. The first hour is the worst hour. The first hour is the alarm and the cold floor and the subway and the forty-seven emails.

I didn’t text him. I just put my phone face down and finished the pad see ew.

Later, around 9, I brushed my teeth. I looked at myself in the mirror and my eyes had that Monday look. You know the one. Not tired exactly. Just… flat. Like the color drained out of the irises overnight. I went to bed at 10:05. I scrolled reels for thirty minutes. I didn’t laugh at any of them. I just scrolled. I set my alarm for 6:50. I stared at the ceiling. I thought about Tuesday. Then I thought about Wednesday. Then I thought about how there are five days between me and Saturday.

I closed my eyes. I didn’t sleep for a long time.

Now it’s the next Monday. The alarm went off at 6:50. I counted. I didn’t move.

I’m writing this from my pillow. I have a meeting at 9. I have seventeen emails. My hands are cold. My chest is tight. I don’t want to get up. I know I’m going to get up. I know that in thirty minutes I’ll be on the subway with my backpack sideways and a coffee I’m not going to drink. I know that at 8:47 I’ll walk in thirteen minutes late and try to make my face look like a face. I know all of it.

I just don’t want to do it again.

That’s the part nobody says about Monday drowning. The water doesn’t kill you. You’re not even underwater. You’re just standing in it. Up to your knees. Up to your waist. The whole week is in front of you and you know exactly how every hour is going to feel because you’ve done this a hundred times and not one of them got easier. You just got better at pretending.

I told myself last week that this week would be different. I told myself I’d wake up early. I’d journal. I’d meditate. I’d drink water before coffee. I did none of it. I did the exact same thing I’ve done every Monday since I started this job, which is to say I survived it. Barely. Quietly. With my hands cold and my jaw tight and a $20 Venmo from my mom sitting in my account like evidence.

I’m not going to pretend I’m going to fix it. I’m not going to give you five tips. I’m not going to tell you to “set boundaries” or “speak to a therapist” or “take a mental health day.” I don’t know how to do any of that. I just know that every Sunday at 9 PM my body starts bracing for impact. And every Monday at 6:50 I lay there and count the minutes on the alarm and pretend I’m not already drowning.

If you’re reading this and your alarm just went off and you didn’t move either — hi. I see you. I’m not going to tell you it’s okay. It’s not okay. It’s just Monday. Maybe Tuesday will be a little better. Maybe it won’t. I’ll see you on the subway at 7:38 with the wet coat smell and the dead-eye crowd and the seventh stop.

Maybe we’ll make eye contact. Maybe we won’t. Either way, I’ll know.

Either way, I’ll know.