When you fight back against anxiety and depression, you learn a lot about yourself. (Some might say you learn too much. And some days, I might agree.)
You learn to live with a mind that’s half-refuge and half-battlefield.
You hear and read and believe that all your breakdowns come from deep-seated anxiety founded in underlying trauma. And if you just keep picking at it long enough, you’ll unearth some radical life lesson that will make all the bathroom breakdowns worth it.
But not every cryfest ends in breakthrough.
I don’t have to shrink myself every time I have a foggy day. I don’t have to spend an hour journaling every time I cry over nothing.
Do I check in with myself more on those days? Absolutely.
Do I super-monitor my thoughts and actions on those days? Fuckin’ a right.
But not every moment is trying to teach me something.
I sure-as-shit can learn something from those moments; life is a dedicated, unbiased teacher. But I don’t have to learn something for those moments to have value.
Sometimes, it’s just an unpleasant day.
And unpleasant days aren’t any less valuable than the rest.
Mary's One Hundred 