I should have known that the week after the time change would be tough. Ever since we sprang ahead I have had gut pain, and anxiety, and to top it all off a silly little cold that won’t quit. Two days into the week I’m already at Friday-level exhaustion, and this morning I was crying at work before I even had my coat off.
Why do we write about such things? There are other blogs that I read where people are coping with sadness or disappointment. These writers honestly share what is going on in their lives even when it’s not pretty (although the ones I like most know where to draw the line. Some information is too much).
This afternoon I ran a prayer service, and rather than being consoled by it I felt pretty teary through most of it. For no real reason other than my general gloom, I felt like nothing I do matters, that I am wasting my time and my energy and ruining my health on something that nobody appreciates or cares about. And for once it wasn’t about “them”, it was about me.
And I wanted to write about it. When I was younger if I wrote about sad things it was for the attention they would get me, so everyone would know that I am tortured and oh so deep. Now it’s a different reason. I want to take my anxiety and make it into something beautiful. In my worry and darkness, that can feel like the only hope of light. If I can create something out of my sadness that I can present, that I can share, that I can even be proud of, it will have served some purpose other than making me cry in front of people.