Entries like this seem to have become increasingly regular over the past 3 or 4 years. Any resilience I once had seems to have diminished to the point that the smallest thing can send me over the edge. I’ve always been a catastrophiser, but usually know better and rein in my overthinking. I can logically work my way through the dark thoughts or sense of overwhelm and even laugh at myself for being such a drama queen.
I know you see…. that my life is good. I’m fortunate. More fortunate than most. Privileged I think is what the ‘woke’ folk call it nowadays.
And yet I find myself spiralling into a world of negativity and doom that it’s increasingly hard to escape. Of course the sane, logical me knows those feelings and thoughts will pass. That I’ll methodically do what needs doing, and – at least momentarily – experience the sense of accomplishment and relief. Perhaps even happiness.
But at the moment those moments are short-lived.
Embarrassingly it’s not even war on the other side of the world, floods and weather events in my part of the world, or the plague engulfing everything before it that’s stressing me out.
It’s garden stuff that needs doing. Trees trimmed, weeds killed, bamboo removed. Things I could do if I was motivated enough to deal with them.
And then there’s the handle on my laundry door that gets stuck and requires me to use a knife to lever it open. In fact I have a list of things needing doing for the handyman.
I did – at least – back in February contact an electrician to look at my non-working solar hot water and ceiling fans. They fixed the latter, but the former needs replacing. Apparently. Alas, since they were here my bedroom airconditioner has stopped working so I need to get them back out.
My house is disgusting. I mean, not hoarder TV show scary, just needs a good clean. I seriously don’t understand how I can lose so much bloody hair and still have some on my head?! And where, where does this dust and crap come from?
I’m behind in my reading and book reviewing and struggling with the motivation to do either.
And I need to chase up my mother’s broadband installation which will only take a call or two and some patience.
Not to mention some fucks. And it’s so easy not to give any. Although in saying that it’s probably pretty obvious that I give too many.
I used to be laid-back. I mean, angsty about minor stuff, but not as easily discombobulated as I am now.
I thought I’d become more zen as I got older. Perhaps it’s not an ageing thing. For a while I thought it was an ‘identity’ thing. A lack of purpose. I’ve talked here about how much of my sense of self was wrapped up in my work and what I did and the years of unemployment post seachange completely eroded that. I no longer knew who I was. I wasn’t needed. I served no purpose. But I’m working again now, so shouldn’t I be feeling more… useful?
I wonder if what I’m going through is normal. Amplified of course because I ALWAYS HAVE BIG FEELINGS and overthink everything. (Worry I worry too much about my worries. Etcetera.) Perhaps the past few years have been my mid-life crisis and it’s not just a cliche but a real thing?