Hi. I'm sitting here watching the cursor blink at me like it's tapping its little cursor foot waiting for me to get my shit together. Never gonna happen, my guy.
After the last two years of the pandemic, it's really not a surprise. A lot of folks are struggling, even those who've never before had mental health issues. Those of us who have for most of their lives are almost at an advantage because we've developed a lot of coping mechanisms to be able to function. That being said, those of us who've had issues their whole lives are also at a disadvantage because, chances are, our cups were not full when everything went to hell, so we're running on fumes and calling it living.
So let's try this again. Hi, I'm Brianne, a fat 40 year old with ADHD, anxiety, and depression (+ seasonal, joy to the world). I've been a binge eater for as long as I can remember, and I was raised by a narcissistic abuser and her enabler/other victim. I'm not fond of the word victim. My fight or flight skews pretty heavily towards fight, which is why my childhood was volatile; even though I had (and have) a distorted view of my own self-worth, I still managed to ask why I was being treated the way I was and got out of the house when I was 17 for college.
I always say that therapy has been a better investment than my Master's degree, and I always will.
But all the coping skills in the world won't prepare you for a pandemic.
The existential pondering is continual and it's hard to live a life with any semblance of normalcy. Now, one could say "you are a privileged idiot with First World problems." And one would be right. But this is the world I live in and that doesn't make my problems any better or worse than anyone else's. This is my reality and mine alone.