Today is one of those days where I want to get in my car and drive and drive and drive, because it might somehow put this heavy sense of dread behind me. Like, maybe fear of failure is some monster I can box up and shove into the top corner of my closet. It might growl, but I can leave it there and get in my car and go away and it won't be able to follow me.
But that isn't going to work. Fear or depression isn't something I can leave behind. It belongs to me and it knows it. Like one of those improbable pets in family movies, it will find it's way back no matter where I go. It will curl up in the back of my mind and sink its claws into my throat.
Sometimes I can kick it out, ignore it's yowling and scratching. But sometimes I open the door just to look at it, to check if it's still there, and it streaks in past my legs before I can stop it.
Some days, just getting up, getting dressed, and leaving the house is the hardest thing in the world.
I guess this happens, though. We feel afraid. We feel useless. We feel like nothing will ever come to any good. We grieve those parts of our former selves we've lost in growing up, giving up, or refusing to give up when we probably should. We swallow the lumps in our throats and pretend we're okay until we fool ourselves into believing it, until it comes true, until next time.
But that isn't going to work. Fear or depression isn't something I can leave behind. It belongs to me and it knows it. Like one of those improbable pets in family movies, it will find it's way back no matter where I go. It will curl up in the back of my mind and sink its claws into my throat.
Sometimes I can kick it out, ignore it's yowling and scratching. But sometimes I open the door just to look at it, to check if it's still there, and it streaks in past my legs before I can stop it.
Some days, just getting up, getting dressed, and leaving the house is the hardest thing in the world.
I guess this happens, though. We feel afraid. We feel useless. We feel like nothing will ever come to any good. We grieve those parts of our former selves we've lost in growing up, giving up, or refusing to give up when we probably should. We swallow the lumps in our throats and pretend we're okay until we fool ourselves into believing it, until it comes true, until next time.