I had a productive day today. Productive, in that I’ve crossed off just about everything on my daily checklist.
I’ve made lunch for the work week ahead. I’ve done some writing. I exercised. I practised both ukulele and singing. I’ve done my language lessons.
I can say today was good. I woke up with the energy needed to take on such a busy day, but I haven’t told you what I did the last two days.
For the most part, nothing.
The past several days have been empty. I did a bit of writing last night when the guilt became too great, but otherwise I mostly just sat on the computer. Gaming, not producing anything.
It’s taken a long time for me to even consider telling myself that this is okay sometimes. My head wasn’t exactly in the right space. My normal reaction is to tell myself that I wasted two perfectly good days, that I should feel guilty somehow.
Better, though, to remember what I actually did do. On Friday, I went to a music lesson. On Saturday, I visited two dear friends. One ‘thing’ per day. But hey… I left the house. I did something.
Someone told me recently that I need to be a little less hard on myself. This is something I’ve struggled with all my life. There’s a fine balance to be had between pushing yourself and giving yourself a break. With mental illness in the mix, this line can become a little blurred.
Some friends today needed help with a local church project, so I agreed to help them. I’ve been putting it off a lot, and have been absent from most of the meetings. It’s hard to find a way to tell people that I already know that I’m not lazy, and it’s not that I don’t care.
Overall I feel good about today. I’m exhausted, though. Anxiety has been running rampant all day, acting as a kind of energy sink. I feel worn out, though what I did today would hardly count as a very busy day for most other people.
Everything I do has a hidden cost. Anxiety is like throwing firestarters on an already healthy flame. It’s not that I don’t want to do things, it’s that much of the time I’d rather do nothing more. It’s not just easier, it’s much easier. I’ve run from this for the longest time. I’ve denied myself rest when I’ve been utterly exhausted on countless occasions.
There comes a time when I have to take care of myself. Admitting that I have a problem is the first, and easily the most important step. Now the healing can begin. This weekend has brought about a subtle but significant shift in my attitude. I’m looking forward to seeing a psychologist.
I want to get better.