I don’t know how to write about this. I never know how to write about my feelings until long after they’re gone. The anger is getting worse.
I’m sure I’ll be fine tomorrow. I’m sure I just didn’t get enough sleep, woke up in the middle of a REM cycle, didn’t eat enough, didn’t drink enough, took my medication too late–I’m sure it’s all the fault of some external force that could, theoretically, be controlled, but I’ll be damned if I can keep track of every little one of them. It’s like holding a handful of baby spiders.
I can’t handle all of this. I need to be able to lose track of things and still be okay.
This morning, I woke up dreaming that I hadn’t gone to work. I woke up not realizing it was a dream. I went to work, and got coffee on the way. Maple syrup latte. Festive.
My first task was seventeen pages long. For context, a ten page day is easy, and it just gets harder from there. I was anxious that my boss was going to reprimand me for skipping work, but he was perfectly reasonable, and even left me a Starbucks card on my keyboard. Christmas present. Everyone got one.
Then, nine pages of my task had to be re-done. All of them over a stupid, preventable thing that I have no control over–all I can do is send them back to their originators, and nag them and nag them for weeks over a tiny mistake that’s supposed to be taken care of same-day. But it won’t be. My boss continued to be pleasant.
Between this task and the next, I realized I wasn’t going to be reprimanded. I never skipped work. It was a dream.
Extraordinarily vivid dreams are a symptom of my medication. Bad memory is a symptom of my illness. This happens a lot, but I never see it coming.
I don’t know how to end this.
I want to punch something.
I want to run away.
I’ll be fine tomorrow.