When everything goes well, the sun rises and falls. The day starts and ends softly or with a bang, but everything keeps turning. Even if the day is a dark one, I keep going with it.
But, for one of a million reasons, some days are shaky.
It’s like a planet rotating in space. Everything is going fine, but then some force, big or small, makes it wobble a bit on its axis.
And next? What I fear the most — the crash.
Sometimes the worry about the crash is almost as bad as the actual crash. Because (obviously) I’ve memorized the signs. And then I analyze:
“Does this mean something is starting again?”
“Where is my contingency plan?”
“What meeting can I reschedule for another day?”
“Will it ever get better?”
My therapist likes to remind me every so often that it’s gotten so much better. So. much. better. I was reading an entry from a year ago — by far not my low point — and I was shocked at how much I’ve grown and learned. Just one click took me to a post I wrote two years ago and wow. Just wow. I want to go back and hug 2014 Sarah.
I can feel the difference. I can write down how many days have passed that are positive, where the sun rises and sets and I do things and talk with people and down my handfuls of pills and my brain and my body work together.
I’m so tired of f**king firsts and that I track them. First time I didn’t have an awful reaction to meds. First time I got on a plane without a panic attack. First time I went to a loud, crowded social gathering and didn’t lose my shit. First trip out of the country. First time I facilitated without dread beforehand.
That last one was this month, by the way. In some ways, it’s nice to see the progress. But I want to stop tracking it.
Every time there is a wobble I wonder — is this when it falls over? And if I fall, will I be able to get back up?