I’m still alive

Hey, internet. It’s been a minute.

More accurately, it’s been about six weeks. Yikes.

I can’t speak in too much detail about how these six weeks have gone, partly owing to the fact that it’d give too much away about me and my work, and partly because I honestly don’t remember. I think we can blame COVID-induced memory fog for that one.

What I can say is I wasn’t doing too well, for a while. Mentally, physically, and emotionally, I was struggling. Work was a nightmare, and then it became less of a nightmare but just so busy that I was working 12-14 hour days trying to stay on top of it all. I wasn’t reading, wasn’t writing, wasn’t doing my very necessary physical therapy exercises. Was barely even eating, beyond a hastily-gobbled dinner after a long day practically glued to my laptop screen.

My life has consisted only of work. Then an hour or two of being too drained to do anything beyond eat, watch a bit of YouTube, and get to bed to do it all again the next day. Even my dreams were work-centric, and I’d wake up with my heart racing, adrenaline pumping, and anxiety swirling in my belly. Weekends were spent catching up on sleep and food because that’s all I had the mental and emotional energy for.

In short, all I could do was the bare minimum required to exist and stay on top of my performance at work. At first, I was extremely unhappy. Then the unhappiness gave way to resignation and pure survival instinct. No time for breakdowns, and hence no time to delve too deep into my actual emotional state. It hasn’t been great.

However, things seem to be slowly, slowly easing up a bit. Enough to where I feel I can start working my creative muscles again, and read again, and get back to this blog and the associated, barely-started (and long-abandoned) Instagram account. I also desperately need to get back to my physical therapy program.

I’m trying to be forgiving of myself and the funk I’ve been in. It’s hard not to fall into the spiral of thinking if I really wanted it, I could have pushed harder, been able to maintain this blog and my physical therapy and work all at once. Maybe I didn’t want it enough. Maybe I wasn’t disciplined enough and the tiredness was just an excuse. It’s still hard not to think that, looking back.

But I’m trying to move past it, to not overwhelm myself by jumping straight back into everything at once and burning out all over again. Baby steps. Little tweaks to the schedule. Little things like just updating ye few (and appreciated) readers with a very rough unedited ramble.

So here we go. Slow and steady.

Wish me luck.

Anxiety Attack

It’s so soft and sad,
this quiet inner crumpling
Shaky foundations crumbling
Pent up emotion stumbling
flowing upward, outward,
heart thumping

Breaths turn into gasps
Gasps turn into sobs
Eyes burn with tears
Throat rasps
Time stops
Head pounding with dark thoughts
Stomach turning itself in knots
No room for logic when it’s fear
calling all of the shots

in the pillars holding everything up
Barely keeping things together
and it all just feels too much
Body and soul a giant bruise
that aches at the barest touch

a shame
Pain, with no foreseeable end
Falling apart over and over
struggling to mend
what little can be patched up
until it happens yet again.