Anxiety, Depression, and Bears, Oh My!

Photo by Waldemar Brandt on Unsplash



Okay, so maybe there aren’t really bears. I mean… there are bears, obviously, but not in my world. In my world, there is anxiety, depression, and everything that makes the two unbearable.

I had months where I was actively stressed about buying a house and not being able to afford Christmas for my children. When those two were done and in the past, I settled into this weird state where I still felt the anxiety, but didn’t have the thing to be anxious about. I was quiet for a while, not really wanting to talk as much as normal, and being sort of contemplative. I’ve mostly come out of that and for a while felt really quite… fine. Maybe even, dare I say, good.

Fast forward to today. I’m an anxious, depressed mess. Why?

My fucking shoe broke.

But also my mom doesn’t like my haircut and I’m still and will always be broke and a lady kept interrupting me and railroading me in a meeting, and I'll never get to buy my daughter her first bra because her dad already did it, and I’m frustrated with myself because I need to learn to speak up for myself, goddammit, and I’m lonely but I also want to be left alone and I’m fat but I want to eat my feelings, my house is a mess and it’s stressing me out but I’m so stressed that I can’t muster the spoons to clean, and all I want to do at all times is just fucking sleep.

I think I’d rather have actual bears to deal with. At least then I could just play dead and hope for the best. Maybe they’d eat me and I’d finally get that long nap…

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