This week has been a bitch, 100% that bitch. Monday at work was like the opening of Saving Private Ryan but with more middle-aged women wanting to speak to the manager – and it was downhill from there. Well until about Thursday.
I took time out from pretty much everything to heal myself. I indulged in my favourite fantasy – me, a lightly packed holdall, a Greyhound bus and a new town in which to start over (a la Julia Roberts in Sleeping with the Enemy). I ate what I wanted, watched a fuck ton of Buffy and spent time with my man.
By Thursday I was pretty much back in the game but for a moment there I felt like this was it. The week that would break me. My anxiety has been through the roof, I’ve been second guessing every single life decision I’ve made since I was 24 – wondering if I really know who I really am and if anyone really loves me. Just the small stuff, you know.
I’ve been questioning everything basically and it’s been doing my head in. The friends I’ve told have been gorgeous and kind – utterly destroying the notion that there’s nothing good in my life.
And then… I got my period and everything made sense again. Like, oh… So that’s why. Got you.