I’m standing on the last, narrow step before the sudden drop into the abyss. Or maybe I’ve already fallen.
I can’t really tell.
And that’s the tricky thing about anxiety. And whatever else might be going on in my head.
Some days are okay. Then, like clockwork on the 14th-or-so day, the darkness rolls in. Whatever energy I put into avoiding a full-blown tantrum of angry, emotional outburst is gone. It can’t be contained.
Everything becomes a slight. An offense.
I am a monster.
I yell. I trip over incoherent streams of consciousness; make snide remarks; rain negativity and undignified derision. It all just oozes out and there’s no shutting it off.
And in the midst of it all I have the smallest awareness that it doesn’t have to be like so. That I can choose to not be a monster. But change is too hard. So I don’t do anything. I double down, defending my actions. Everthing gets worse. Hatred consumes.
And all of it towards that one person who, despite their own problems, has given me everything while receiving very little, if anything at all, in return.
This is not living.
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Photo: Sergio Rola/Unsplash
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