I've just written this and I have not yet decided whether or not to post it.
If you're reading it, I guess I clicked "publish".
This is very hard for me, but having been inspired recently by the strength and courage of several of my fellow bloggers, here I am writing it. And if nothing else, it's nice to let it out. Even a little.
If you know me in real life, maybe reserve your judgement. I've got enough of that already, in my own head.
I didn't write this, or post this, for you. It's for me.
Really Bad Day.
Have you ever had one?
A day in which you can barely bring yourself to get out of bed. A day that feels like the culmination of weeks upon weeks of denial about some type of overall loss of emotional strength? A day that snaps you into reality, highlighting that this isn't just being "bummed out" - that a day or two of sunny weather will not resolve this.
A day in which nearly anything can make you cry. The fact that you're running late (because you couldn't get out of bed). Or the fact that it's snowing. Again. Or the fact that everything you've been working on for months upon months at work could just... dissolve?
On the verge of tears throughout the day, and yet unable to let yourself feel because you're supposed to be a professional who can hold herself together under pressure and get results.
And then you spend the day trying to self-diagnose on the internet. Which helps nothing. It either scares you into thinking you're worse than you are. Or shocks you into realizing this is worse than you thought. Or makes you feel like shit because your "symptoms" are nothing of what they could be - nothing of what others are experiencing. So why are you complaining?
And, in the worst case scenario, getting caught crying in front of colleagues. And snapping at them. And really just wanting to go home, except not, because that means you'd have to sit and wallow in your own self-pity.
And even worse than that, losing your very delicate sense of cool at the end of the day and bawling to your manager about something being Wrong with you. Something you can't identify. And certainly can't fix. And it's interfering with your work, with your life, and you don't know what to do.
And everyone telling you to go to your doctor. And you will. You've been meaning to. But part of your brain tells you this isn't a big deal. It'll get better. There's no reason to be so upset. This is "ridiculous". How dare you? People have Cancer. People have died. And other people are left to deal with the mess left behind. You have a perfect little life. Get a hold of yourself. You're so pathetic.
And you don't know which part of your brain is the logical part. Or the self-defending/destructing part(s). Going to the doctor seems logical. But it also seems so unnecessary. You are so strong. How heartbreaking to have to admit that you can't overcome this by yourself. That you are out of your own control. For the first time. Ever.
And worst of all, there is no known reason. No One Thing that is causing you to feel so... so... helpless. Home is fine. Work is fine. And yet, you can't bear to be at home because you can't bear to actually do anything with yourself - except sitting around and being bored. You want to. Desperately. You just can't. And you can't bear to be at work either because you have to hold it all in and try to be productive and un-obvious - to put on a show - an act - that you are your normal cheerful self.
And overall, you cannot stand to be alone.
Such a Bad Day.
A day that makes you embarrassed and ashamed (even though logic tells you that you ought not be either of those things) and, above all, tired. Exhausted from battling yourself - pushing away your irrational negativity.
And so damn fragile. Broken. Weak.
Wanting nothing more than to just crawl under a blanket and weep...