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We’re all Stressed to the Max. Why am I so Special?
Because it’s happening to me.
I.am.stressed.
It’s not my usual kind of stress, which comes in big bursts, then mellows out to something I can live with. This stress is the kind that weighs you down, dragging like a giant concrete block behind you.
Today I came home, showered the germs off of me and sat in a chair on my living room for a good 30-40 minutes. I didn’t do anything except stare at a plant or the trees out the window, taking care not to disturb my cat who took up residence on my chest. Of course, I scrolled half-heartedly through Instagram for the first 5 minutes, but even that proved to be too much work.
I didn’t want to sit and watch TV. It seemed exhausting and boring. A ridiculous feeling considering that watching TV is one of the most passive activities you can do. Reading, one of my favourite past times, felt far too stressful and like just too much work. My brain felt — feels — overloaded and activating it felt like doing 1,000 chores. It’s a feeling I’ve become familiar with as I watch my ‘to read' pile of books becoming bigger, while the ‘read’ pile stays stagnant. No longer does reading before bed feel relaxing, it feels like yet another item on my to do list. Yet another thing to turn my brain on for, another chore I can’t possibly muddle…
