Sunday is supposed to be a day of rest. This is what I hear, but for me Sundays can be my most unrestful day. Not that I am physically busy, though sometimes I am. Sunday tends to be the day my anxiety and depression hit the worst. My mood swings get wild, I am overly frustrated by everything, and just downright unpleasant. There was a span of months, maybe even a year long span, that every Sunday I would be “in a mood”. Hence, why my husbands dubbed my issue “A case of the Sundays”.
I haven’t figured out why Sunday in particular was so hard. Maybe because Sunday is that day where one week ends and new one begins. It is a transitional day. My depression doesn’t know how to transition easily. It comes on full force at times. It sneaks up on me gradually other time. Then it can leave as quickly as it came or go on for months.
I have mostly learned my stressors. Stress, for instance, which is my constant state of being. I stress over everything. Literally. The stress wears me down and gives way for my depression to sneak back up. Anxiety is another friend of mine. Always there, telling me to worry about everything. Replaying every single situation I have been in as far back as I can remember. Perfection, or the perceived need to be perfect that is. I know I am not perfect and it is impossible to be but my mind needs me to be. I plan and over plan every aspect of my life. When things don’t go the way I plan it sets off a ripple effect. Add all these aspects on top of a fragile psyche and I drown. I am always inches away from going completely under.
Sundays aren’t my only hard days. Any given day can be a hard day. Any moment of any day can turn a good day into a hard day. Any slight hitch in my plan can set my mind off and turn my day upside down. Some times it is easier to hide than other times. When I am with certain people it is easier to keep that air of having it together. I can’t let anyone know I am not perfect, after all. I have invested so much into my perceived image that the world gets to see. Even my family and friends have only had glimpses into my true reality. The walls I have built are so tall and thick and heavy that they keep my true self hidden well only letting out little specks every now and then through the cracks.
This even, is only a glimpse. I could feel my mood slipping and my false happiness beginning to fade so I wanted to write it out. To let some of it go. I have never been good at “talking it out” or sharing my feelings. I usually hold back until it becomes too much and everything explodes out like a canon ball firing from a canon.
I’m working on that.
It is still early yet on my Sunday but I am striving to win this battle and have more good days than hard and less “case of the Sundays” on any day of the week.