I’m A Grown Man Who Can’t Stop Watching Grey’s Anatomy

I'm A Grown Man Who Can't Stop Watching Grey's Anatomy

A few weeks ago, my girlfriend asked me if we could watch Grey’s Anatomy together. I had caught an episode or two in the background before while my sister or mom watched, but I had never truly watched the show. What could it hurt? It gave us something to watch instead of the 20-minute-long discussion of “you pick” / “no, you pick” and it seems to be a (fairly) critically-acclaimed show. I mean, girls I follow on Twitter retweet Grey’s Anatomy memes and everyone seems to like it. It couldn’t be that bad, so why not? I told her, “Sure,” and before I knew it, my life changed.

I needed another episode. And then another. And another. It was like the constant suspense and drama with occasional humor had created an addiction so strong I could not control it. I felt like a meth head that just needed more. I needed to see Derek and Meredith’s rollercoaster relationship. I needed to see Alex and Izzy’s sexual tension. I needed to see which patient was going to die that episode. I needed to see what kind of crazy creative plotline the producers had lined up for me next. I needed it.

I get to spend my weeknights by myself and I usually watch whatever game is on (sports!) or play Xbox. The other night, I decided to hit up Netflix and threw on Grey’s. Soon enough, it was two hours past my bedtime (yeah, I have a bedtime, so what?) and I was about to watch one more. I forced myself to go to bed. The next evening I threw on Grey’s as soon as I got home. I needed more. I couldn’t get enough. I find myself talking out loud to my TV while I stuff my face with pizza and cookies.

The following are things I’ve said out loud to myself since beginning the show:

“Poor George.”
“No, Meredith, that’s not how it works.”
“Damn, Cristina, cut him a break.”
“Dr. Bailey, you need a chill pill.”
“No, Derek.”
“No, Meredith.”
“Okay, fine, don’t listen.”
“Poor George.”
“Hahaha, Addison stapled the underwear to the board, lol u wild tho.”
“Izzy, get over it.”
“No no no no no.”
“I hate this show.”
“Okay, fine, just one more episode.”
“Poor George.”

The worst part is I don’t even know what I’m in for. I’m only in early season three. I already know that every character I am already emotionally attached to is either going to die or disappear or something. There are going to be new characters that come in and I will eventually just get attached to them. I don’t understand why I keep putting myself through the hurt. I know bad things are going to happen. I know patients will die. I know doctors are going to break other doctors’ hearts. Why do I continue to torture myself like this? I would be lying if I said I’ve never teared up watching this show. Hell, they even let a dog die. It’s not enough for you to kill off patients and other characters, so let’s just kill Derek and Meredith’s dog? That’s messed up.

The worst part is my girlfriend, sister, and mom are all ahead of me. They know I’m doomed for more heartbreak. They are just sitting there, telling me “just you wait” with no warning of what is going to rip out my soul next. With my luck, something super crazy like Derek dying is going to happen next.

Yeah, I know. He dies. I hate this show.

What’s the point? Why do I even watch it? This show stresses me out more than my job does. It’s not like I can talk to my group text about it either. I’m living in hiding. I’m just going to go home, lock the doors, close all my blinds, and turn on my TV.

And then I’m going to watch more Grey’s Anatomy.

Image via Netflix

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I'm just a cultured redneck that coaches hoops and loves Dale Earnhardt.

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