Chaos-muppet public persona notwithstanding, I'm lucky enough to generally have pretty solid mental health. I've got friends and family who love me. I basically like myself and think I'm a valuable and interesting human being.
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This is why it always takes me by surprise every year at this time when I just fall apart. Basically, the time between Thanksgiving and mid-December is a crapshoot for me, every year. Saturday I spent some quality time slowly walking through Target, crying.
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This year is worse than usual; my house has been disassembled since early June, which leaves me with a TON more anxiety and exhaustion. Shit is Just Harder this year. And it will pass, and I'll be okay, but -- but I should have figured that the collapse would be worse.
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I don't have a neat little point to wrap this up with. It's just: shit is hard. I feel pretty worthless. I'm just saying it all out loud because my inner Protestant Guilt-o-Meter told me I shouldn't, and fuck that thing, it's my life's mission to throw it into a volcano.
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So. Sorry to be a bother. Thanks for listening, twitter. And if your path ever happens to lead you to having coffee with me and/or giving me a hug, it's probably a good week for that.
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I am mostly afloat. Consider this a hug.
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