When life gives you lemons, tell them to categorically do one. Because without a ton of sugar and unicorns, what the hell good is a bunch of sourness going to do you?
This past week has quite frankly been one of the worst in a very long time.
I’m not going to lie, work is entirely to blame. So much so that I almost jacked it all in to go and work in a sandwich shop. My anxiety hasn’t been this bad for ages and I can’t wake up at the moment without being largely consumed by waves of fear and dread.
I wonder just how many people experience the feeling of craving being back in bed, upon waking in the morning. I fear a large amount.
Leaving my room sets my stomach churning and the walk to work is nothing but prolonged torture. I’ve done so much overtime and I’m rarely getting home before 7pm. The other night, 9pm. We’ve had a change, a big change, and it’s meant backlogs of work, disgruntled people and very, very intense situations.
My health is suffering badly in all of this. Not just from the extra physical demand and being on my feet rushing around for over 9 hours a day, but from the draining stress which is soaring through every part of my body.
It’s very difficult to switch off from my job, mainly as I have about a 5 minute commute time and my family talk about most of the weekend, bless em’. They mean well, but I sometimes (always) wish I worked for MI5, so I really had no other option than to not talk about work.
I mean Christ, this week has been so horrific it’s made me consider writing poetry again.
In my opinion, the beautiful art of poetry should be wholly reserved for those experiencing torment and a feeling so unbearable, there is no other option for expression than through a pained, penned prose.
Trust me, I should know.
Next week is probably going to be no better and right now, on top of all my other overwhelming worries, I just feel like fleeing. To the city where no one knows me and I can hide among the crowd of like-hearted folk.
Maybe I’m just being indulgent in my assumed suffering. Perhaps I should just ‘shake off’ this anxiety and #justgoforawalk and count my blessings. That is the understood consensus of a lot of people. Maybe stronger people. Maybe those less affected by emotion. Maybe those with a higher barrier to inner reaction and self-doubt.
Which begs the question. On the grounds of self-preservation, is it better to be a less reactive person? Would it make me stronger to feel less, over-think less? Or, does it make you stronger by allowing yourself to be open to the bad times and coming out the other side, being damn proud of yourself that you just kept going?