A sleepless night.
A soar throat and socks that do not match.
Finally, a Pumpkin Spice Latte.
“The threat of nothingness?”, my witch giggles over my shoulder. She is becoming louder, now that autumn paints the world into a dark fairytale.
And she is right. I hate our tendency to just not do things anymore so much that I tried to do enough for 5 people, until my body said no. I started new projects at work, ran after friends to meet, am still writing my master thesis as well as my novel, all while healthy meal prepping, and having a chaotic freelancing schedule. All until my body said no.
“I still don’t think they are right”, I tell my witch. With ‘they’, I mean those friends of mine that cancel everything while always needing rest and another mental health day.
I just think that we have a weird concept of what it means to be alright.
People tend to assume that those that have ambition and get things done are those that never had any problems, or don’t know what it’s like to be ill. They assume that about me when I withstand a heated argument at the office, push through a concept I believe in, or give science talks at the museum to difficult visitors. I have several chronic illnesses, which are under control at the moment, but I definitely know what it’s like not to be able to do things because of physical and mental health. And because I know this, I celebrate the days when this is NOT the case. My suffering made me stronger, made me want to live even more!
By now, I react rather sensitively to people giving me their questionable admiration for all the things I do. I notice more and more the little site note of: “You’re so much tougher than everyone else.” And no, I don’t think I am.
I have accepted that I cannot always feel perfectly well, but still be happy.
Actually, the tendency of most of my friends to only sit and home and never hang out anymore, to not want a career, not write their thesis, not go on dates, and in general just talk about mental health and well-being as an opposite of all these things has driven me so mad, I did double, triple as much as before!
And well, my body said no after a while. In a rather unsettling manner, but it’s under control now. I am getting better.
I will stop overloading myself out of defiance against my broken dystopia generation. I promise. It’s just that I remember so much what it was like not to be able to live a life that I sometimes escalate on it.
“Fighting nothingness with a lack of sleep and a migraine?”, my witch mocks me, and I take my Pumpkin Spice Latte back.
