Fuck it All

When Your Day Falls to Shit

There are some days where waking up is painful. Today is not one of those days. But it sure has become one.

The issue with my particular form of neurodivergence is that everything happens swiftly. One minute, I’m dancing to Kendrick in the kitchen, talking to my sister about how I’m planning on faxing every republican in Congress every day for the foreseeable future and only 30 minutes later, I’m curled up in a ball, tears streaming down my face.

The smallest thing can completely ruin my mental health for a day. And sure, I could get over it. I can hear it now, “It’s not a big deal, don’t let it get to you!” But even the smallest thing can ruin it all.

It’s similar to a microaggression, which is when something seemingly small happens to a member of a marginalized group, like when a trans person is misgendered. Sure, it doesn’t seem like a big deal to someone not on the receiving end, but it can be incredibly painful and cause real damage. Sometimes it’s the smallest things that really make a difference.

The adage is literally the straw that broke the camel’s back or in my case the email that caused it all to go to shit. I’ve had multiple little things happen. There’s everything happening in the world (not so little, but still). I had someone mansplain the WNBA to me like I was a fucking idiot, not like someone who grew up going to games and owns 2 Caitlin Clark shirts. I got an email that my novella, that comes out September 30th, needed a “developmental edit,” something I didn’t think was necessary at this point (or could afford even if I wanted to do it). There’s not a lot of space in my apartment right now, so I spend my mornings standing in my kitchen or leaving super early for work. And once I get to work, there’s stuff pushed onto me that makes no sense and I’m the one that has to deal with the negative fallout.

All seemingly small. All things that should only be a minor annoyance. But now I’m writing this with tears in my eyes, my mental health trashed for the day.

I take my meds. I drink water. I get enough sleep. And it’s still not enough some days. Fuck, it’s not enough most days.

I exert so much energy on just being a functional human, when I really want to stare into the void for hours, paralyzed by everything I’m feeling. It’s all too much and today I’m feeling that acutely.

My parents always told me and my sister “to pull yourself up by your bootstraps.” How are you supposed to do that when your bootstraps are cut and your boots are so sunk in the mud, they’re never coming out?

I am trying my hardest to save the day. I’m writing this. I’m listening to my favorite playlist from college, the one titled, “For When You’re Stressed and Freaking Out.” I have a call scheduled with one of my best friends. I have a series of messages in my video group chat with the tripod, my besties from college. Four books are waiting for me at the library, two of which will continue the series I’m currently reading and loving. I’m listening to a super fun library book and reading another from an author I adore. I ate a kimchi rice ball thing for breakfast and it was delicious. And I’ve got good coffee.

Some days though, that’s not enough. I don’t know how I’ll feel as the day goes on. I can’t predict the future. Some days, all you can do is gut it through, holding on until your finger’s bleed, and you can finally go to bed.

That’s my life. Holding on desperately, riding it out, doing everything I can to make it through. It sucks.

It’s not all bad. I’m creative. I feel everything deeply, bad emotions and happy ones too. I see the world differently. I have a strong sense of justice and a desire to change what I can no longer accept.

But the dark days are incredibly hard. They descend and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. I can take all the pharmaceuticals in the world, and it still happens. And if I don’t take my meds, well fuck, I swing violently from one extreme to the other, sometimes in the same breath.

I’m going to continue to try and save this day, to salvage as much as I can. I’m going to continue to not slap a motherfucker. I’m going to put my head down and get as much work done as I am able, while also understanding that today may not be my day.

And then I’m going to crawl into bed, go to sleep, and hope tomorrow is a better day.

In the words of Annie, “the sun will come out tomorrow.” I hope it does for me.