Ha! The title is suggestive as all my words just went on strike!
My weeks are generally full on. Work keeps me busy and with the longer commute, I am finding that by the time it gets to being at home, I am just done. Yet, amongst all the busy-ness, I am still getting major panic attacks and spots of deep depression.
It will be all fine one minute, or even a whole day, and then I will take a deep breath and my whole mood just disappears. Literally. It is like I have taken a deep breath in and instead of being dispelled, it suddenly swells up inside and creates this huge bubble.
The next breath does not alleviate this.
This “grateful” 2019 – remember it was my word for the year – is proving to be most elusive. Instead of finding that sense of peace and happiness that I found the last time around, I am instead on a daily dose of panic attacks, heightened heart rates and this feeling of absolute woe.
This is NOT me.
Happiness is subjective. This is never more apparent than when I do staff meetings and hear what is going on in their lives. Work may score an 8 but home brings that right down to a 5 or 6. Or vice versa. How we perceive being happy today, changes tomorrow and is certainly different 4 weeks down the track.
That still does not explain the inability to be grateful. I am looked after, I have a lovely home, a wonderful car, eat well, am clothed and I still am able to follow all the things I want to do. I am able to indulge my creative side and do the things I need to do, and still explore my world.
I am fucking lucky.
It should not be this hard. It should not be easy, but it should not be this hard. Maybe I am overthinking this?