Anxiety · Sensitivity

This Week Sucked


This alligator also thinks this week sucked

I have a friend, he used to have a lot of anxiety and depression.  Now he doesn’t any more.  He says he never has bad days anymore.  HE NEVER HAS BAD DAYS.  Wow,  I thought.  I want to never have bad days again, either.  What an inspiration!  If only I think more positively I, too, can achieve this awesome state of being.

Alas, if only it were that easy.  If only my work were perfect all the time.  If only I never had to worry about the future.  If only I never got sick again.  If only I weren’t a woman, living in a man’s world with PMS and hormones and being patronized constantly.  If only I weren’t a Highly Sensitive Person.

Willpower can only take you so far.


Here’s the cheerful thought that’s been running through my mind all day.

The anxiety and depression I’ve been feeling today didn’t come from nowhere.  It came, largely, from the fact that this week just sucked.  I went up to Toronto by myself for a conference, and I hated it.  I hated feeling alone and wandering around the city lonely and feeling small and meaningless.  I hated having to push through the crowds to get anywhere.  I missed my bus connection and didn’t get to do what I really wanted, which was sketch the passenger pigeons at the museum.  I came home tired and with a headache.  I hurt my back this week and it’s been in pain since then.  I have been hunching my shoulders at night, causing me more pain.  The temperature dropped and I feel cold all the time.  I couldn’t sleep last night.  Work was tiring and stressful, and patrons were extra rude and demanding and I couldn’t get a break from constant interruptions.  My thoughts were racing and I couldn’t turn them off. I wanted to take a poker to my brain today.  And there was a beautiful cardinal dead on my driveway on Friday morning.

Fuck you, week.  Seriously, fuck you.

I am wondering in a case like this, is it so wrong to feel down and depressed when things go genuinely badly?  Is it wrong to admit that some days are worse than others, by any objective measure?  Should we try and be cheerful and happy all  the time? Maybe acknowledging when things are wrong, and getting upset about them, isn’t always a bad thing.  It’s what starts civil rights movements, protests, and revolutions.  It could be my body once again saying, “Slow down you crazy woman, you’re getting battered by life again!  Just draw a picture and watch something silly on YouTube.”

I am waiting for the tide to turn.


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