Wonder Woman is Tired
I’ve had a couple challenging weeks. My mental health has been at probably an all-time low and I’ve been failing at several aspects of life. I don’t have the strength to go into detail about it, but suffice it to say, I’m spent. My men are all otherwise occupied this evening so I decided to sit solo on our patio, next to my SoloStove, and enjoy the twilight.
Everything was perfect, even the random mix of music. That was until Chris Stapleton singing Tennessee Whiskey gave me a hankering for some bourbon. So I headed to the kitchen to make myself a hot toddy with some Bulleit and an extra squeeze of honey—the perfect drink for this early fall evening.
As my tea kettle started to whistle, I grabbed my favorite over-sized Wonder Woman mug to hold this magical, healing concoction. The size and weight was perfect and gave me a sense of strength and nostalgia at the same time.
The tea, the fire, Wonder Woman—this evening was turning into the height of self-care. I headed back outside to the fire, ready to wrap my hands around my mug and sip my toddy.
I opened my basement door to reveal my perfect fire and Queen’s Under Pressure coming from my sound bar. As I crossed the threshold, my mug bumped the door frame, slipping from my hand. Bourbony tea splashed everywhere and Wonder Woman crashed to the concrete cracking into several pieces.
Under normal circumstances, this wouldn’t phase me. Physical things aren’t my jam, so in my mind a mug is mostly just a mug. But considering the last few weeks, it seemed like so much more. I teared up as I picked up the largest piece by the handle.
I cleaned up the mug, swept up the stray shards and headed back to the kitchen to make another, but the symbolism of this wasn’t lost on me.
This Wonder Woman also feels broken and unable to get the job done.
I’m not sure when it started. In one way, it feels like anybody could see this breakdown coming from a mile away. In another, it seems as if it came out of nowhere and hit me like a Mike Tyson left hook.
I suppose we’re all struggling. I see it all around me. I sense it everywhere I go.
The uncertainty of our lives it palatable. But really, what bothers me most is the realization that life has always been uncertain. I just didn’t see it before. And that realization is something I can’t unlearn.
The other thing I can’t unlearn is the beliefs and actions of acquaintances. The bad attitudes, selfish behaviors, and worst of all assumptions that I agree with them have worn me down to the point that I’m not sure I still classify myself as extrovert.
The brain fog and complete and utter lack of focus is affecting every area of my life. I struggle to stay on task, forget why I walk into a room, and worst of all have lost motivation to do things that bring me joy.
I’ve stopped caring about my appearance as much as I used to. Maybe this is a positive thing, but it certainly hasn’t helped my self-image. I also avoid looking in the mirror because I always look tired. The bags under my eyes are dark and packed for a long excursion.
The connectedness the internet has brought us should be a blessing, but more and more I feel it’s a curse that is driving us apart. I’ve been contemplating going back to a flip phone and deleting my profiles because it feels as if drastic measures are in order to regain control over my mental state.
I know I’m not alone, but I wonder if I’m just weak. Are we all weak? The depression and world wars raged on longer than the measly twoish years that we’ve been dealing with COVID. Did the Greatest Generation struggle like this or am I just pampered and overly sensitive?
I used to feel like I had things under control, I could handle anything. I was clearly delusional. I was never delusional enough to think I looked like 1979 Lynda Carter, but I assumed I could at least hold it together without cracking. Maybe that once was the case, but it certainly isn’t my current reality.
