I had quite a bit of anxiety today. I’m going to have it every day for the next three or four weeks, until Pesach (Passover) is here, if not until Pesach is over. There’s too much fear of doing the wrong thing in kashering or having an argument with my parents about what we’re doing.
Otherwise I was mostly OK, although I overslept this morning and had to go to work unshaven (which I hate) and get the bus to the station instead of walking (which is more expensive and deprives me of the little exercise I get). I think there was a bit of depression and maybe of crying this morning, but not too much. Although it’s probably not a good thing that I can tolerate any amount of crying at work or on public transport.
I was speaking to the temp at work today (actually, I was trying to work and she was speaking to me), so I used the opportunity to mention my mental health issues, as my therapist wants me to do. She carried on talking without saying anything about it, so I guess the experiment was partially successful in that she didn’t say that I’m a freak, although I’m not sure if she didn’t follow up on what I said because she was scared to or just because she wasn’t interested.
I did struggle at a couple of points. The temp was complaining that her friends all have houses and children “and all I have is a guy and a dog.” I pointed out that I’m about seven years older than her and I don’t even have a girlfriend or a dog, let alone a house. Later, on the way home, the most romantic song I know (Fields of Gold by Sting) came up on my iPod on shuffle; I hurried on to the next track. And characters kissing in Doctor Who tonight also made me feel lonely and wistful.
I try not to compare myself. I try to tell myself that life is not a race and Olam HaZeh (This World) is for growth, not for happiness, but it’s hard. It’s hard when I feel that everyone is happy and I’m not, even if know rationally that it isn’t the case that everyone else is happy, or that I’m the most unhappy person ever, or that there’s nothing good in my life. I do feel that, compared to most people, I probably have had an objectively more miserable life than most, certainly than most people my age, and I do feel I have genuine reasons to doubt whether I will ever have the life I want to lead. I want to make something productive out of that, but I don’t have a clue what. I can’t go down the misery memoir route, for various reasons, and I’m not sure the world needs another misery memoir anyway. I couldn’t be a mental health campaigner and I can’t think how I could be a volunteer. I was going to go on the committee of the depression support group I go to, but then I started working much longer hours and that was no longer possible. I’m trying to learn from the things that went wrong in my childhood how to make things better with my own children… except the problem is that I don’t have children in the first place, and am increasingly scared that I never will (I get really broody at the moment). It’s all very well to say that if life gives you lemons, make lemonade, but that relies on having water and sugar as well as lemons. I have lemons, a little bit of water and no sugar.
Sigh, now I’ve just talked myself back down into depression…