Where a combination of the news and social media and seeing friends hurting leaves you heart sick inside, and IRL stuff offline - like work and laundry and fighting with the post office because Customs sent back all your international pin orders, or fixing that broken front door handle, or airing out the moldy smell from the car that's STILL there after buying mulch last week to spruce up a yard overgrown with weeds in the sweltering 94 degree heat even though it's October, Florida, so what the actual heck - all those things keep getting in the way of stuff you actually want to do.
Plus, as too many of you know, there's that one-two punch of a panic disorder coupled with an invisible illness. (Spoiler Alert: still have those. Dangit.) I hate feeling light-headed and jittery but somehow exhausted so much of the time. Mostly because when I get bad like this I'm scared - so stinking scared - of dying. Like, all the time. Every knee wobble or dizzy spell, I'm like, "Welp. Here it comes. This is it. And there's still so much I haven't done yet."
You'd think that would make me go all Hamilton inside, get fired up for the time I have left. You'd think I'd be working like a fiend, grabbing life by the cosplay horns, and writing like I'm running out of time.
But I'm tired, peeps. Tired, scared, and just trying to survive my own body's onslaught of misfiring autoimmune defenses, adrenaline, and wackadoodle hormones going "AW YEAH BABY TIME!" when it is most certainly NOT "baby time," ovaries, so chill the eff out.
So yeah, instead of working harder, instead of funneling my fear into hyper-productivity, I slack off. I binge-watch comfort shows, I take my meds, I cry while watching this Sara Barielles/Jessie Mueller duet from Waitress, because that shiz is raw and cathartic and the way Jessie sings "pie" is my favorite - and I wait.
Look, I know it's going to be OK. I know my panic and Hashi's flares with my cycle, and I know things will be better in a week or two. I'm at the bottom of a well looking up, knowing a ladder is coming. That just doesn't change the fact that I'm still down here, ticked-off, tired, obsessing over if-onlys.
But it's not just me down here, is it? You - yeah, you - I see you. I got you. We may lose days or weeks at a time, we may lose career opportunities, we may even lose friends who don't understand, but we know the value of this fight. We know how precious the good days are. We cherish every belly laugh, every friendship, every piece of art or new fandom to obsess over. (Oh hi there, Critical Role...) We try to surround ourselves with light and laughter, with geeky shows and toys, with happy things we can cling to when life gets hard. It's why we're friends. It's why I love you. And it's why I work as hard as I can, when I can, to share smiles and silliness and new fandoms and art and all the beauty in life I can scoop up. Because this is our arsenal. These are our weapons. Others may not see it, but we are fighters.
And by God, we will fight.
Be right back, gang. Just gotta go slay some monsters.
P.S. If you need a good cathartic cry, close the door, turn up the volume, and watch this:
Repeat as needed.
Now scootch over, and pass the tissues.