My entire existence, I’ve dealt with depression and anxiety – I joke with my husband that it started in utero – but I guess I just assumed that the feelings I had always felt were the feelings that everyone else had always felt and so I never called it anything.
I now know – after a brief stint of counseling and getting out of my own head for awhile in the form of actually talking to other people about it – that those feelings are pretty specific to sufferers of depression and anxiety. I don’t know if it helps to call it what it is – ignorance is bliss, you know – but alas.
After a series of what I mentally labeled ‘good days’ last week – days that I am no stranger to – I broke down in the shower at 1am while rinsing the citrus shampoo from my hair, when my brain was like “HEY, REMEMBER ALL THE DUMB STUFF YOU’VE EVER DONE, LOL.”
I hadn’t forgotten of course, because who could forget all of that, but I was busy reading HP and dinosaur discovery articles to my little crew by day and binging on my new favorite show by night, lost in a world of bones and fictitious plots.
But it got me thinking…
Are there ‘good days’…? Or are there the same worry-ridden days, full of just enough distractions to get you through?