Under duress. in Like No One Is Reading

I can make a list, count up accomplishments, I have done so much in my life, survived so much. And I’m proud, really, I am.

But I feel like a large portion of the things I’ve done were accomplished under duress. When everything feels like a matter of survival, when every day brings some new stress, every accomplishment feels like a tremendous feat.

Did the dishes today? Might need a couple of days to recover.

Yes, seriously.

And, even now, even medicated so nicely, so effectively, I still have many days like this. The smallest thing can feel like I’ve climbed a mountain.

This mood, these feelings bubbling up, this restlessness and discontentment… is PMS. I know it. Because I’m medicated so nicely, so effectively, it feels like the flip of a switch when it hits. The flip of a switch that hits me like a freight train of depression, low self-esteem, self-doubt, self-loathing… and, sometimes… that feeling, that thought…

I don’t want to go on like this.

Not “I can’t.” Because I can. And I will.

But it’ll be under duress because I don’t want to. I don’t have the will to want to.

But I can and I will and people will say how strong I am, how resilient, how inspirational, how admirable. Or something.

But all I’ll be is exhausted.

And then, it’ll pass, and for a few weeks, everything will (probably) be okay. Or some semblance of okay, anyway.