Bad day, writing as therapy, and being sick

Some people know this, some people don’t. But in this year I’ve had the scare of my life, for my life. It’s taken all I’ve had to pull myself together and still consider myself good at anything. Today brought back some feelings of worthlessness, fear, and anxiety. I try to write my way through it as therapy, but often it doesn’t help much. Some don’t understand staring at a wall for hours. Friends don’t understand staying in bed instead, the whole day, or week rather. People that are strangers to sickness don’t understand what it means when you say you simply don’t feel good.

There are bad days, and there are really bad days. Today wasn’t as bad as it could have been, but it wasn’t one I can say I particularly enjoyed. I was somewhere else mentally. Financial worries, career path worries, health worries, family worries, I worry up the wall and then back down again. When people say, “why worry about things you have no control over?” —I can’t understand them because I think whatever happened to me in the last two years, has made that impossible.

I’m not the same girl I used to be. I know the cause, but it does nothing to help better me as a person today. Something happened to me the November before last that changed my life forever, and although there are many people with struggles far worse, it has taken me so long to face the reality of it. Then the day nonchalantly hits you with your regular responsibilities and then something stomach fluish is happening, and I just wish that something would stop my nerves. I’m shaking over here.

And then I remember this quote I’ve heard by Michael Forbes:

Some days are for living. Others are for getting through.

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