last night, it had felt like my brain was rattling with sounds and thoughts, but i couldn’t put my finger on what the thoughts were and what was making the sound. i felt it, but couldn’t see it. it was overwhelming to the point that all i could think to do was go to bed.
after finally peeling myself out of my bed this morning, the story of my day went from “powering through the remnants of yesterday’s unprovoked depressive mood and get this to-do list over with” to “getting things done because you’ll feel god having them finished and because you haven’t had time to yourself for longer than you remember and you desperately need it.”
it brought me back to the solid chunk of time in my life, maybe three or four years ago, right before i really started to get mentally ill, where i refused to go out on sundays. it was my one day a week dedicated to waking up while it was still socially acceptable to eat breakfast, jammed out to some new music while deep cleaning my room and maybe starting a new organizational task or some reorganizing, ran the important errands, and spent any leftover time until dinner to do something by myself and for myself.
after being reminded of the importance of slowing down once in a while, i was able to see a lot of things more clearly than they’ve been. the most important being that the people in my life and the roles that they play in it have gotten me as close to being out of this mess i’ve made as i am. to alter any of that in such a fragile state would be fixing something that isn’t broken. that’s one mistake i need to stop making, and i say it’s time for me to stop ignoring the signs telling me so.