In the interests of de-stigmatizing mental illnesses, here’s what’s up with me: super anxious. Not coping well with my anxiety. Struggling to make all the ends meet, and as my friend Julie described it, feeling like I’m at the end of my rope but someone replaced my rope with a bungee cord so the end just keeps going. I’m feeling intense desperation that I’m not *enough* to deal with all the things that should, could, might need doing.
I have huge projects at work and if I could work 60 hour weeks I *might* be able to feel like they were under control. The house is a disaster and I can’t even begin to figure out where to start to un-fuck it. My kid is 2 and that says all that needs saying. My husband has $1000 in leather commissions he’s super excited to do, but he’s down with a migraine. I just sorted our mail and found important things we’ve let slide: safety recalls on both cars, a speeding ticket I got, rabies shots for Jack, Malcolm’s registration, medical bills. I’m sitting on the floor in the kitchen because though it is relatively disgusting, there’s sunlight in here in the late afternoon and that feels like a benediction.
And I hate Easter. My dad died at Easter time and I am so sad he doesn’t know Gwyneth.
But I’m going to clean this kitchen. I’m going to play with G. I’m going to fill some eggs and do an egg hunt tomorrow. I’m going to go to work on Monday and finish two staffing plans and an initial draft of my grant.
Because I persevere. It’s what I do. And the sun is shining, I have a good life, a loving family, and amazing friends, one of whom is bringing me dinner tonight. And sometime soon I will be able to see that those things, and I, are enough. I know I will. Just not tonight.
It’s all gonna be okay. Eventually.