I was originally going to call this post “Lee is always depressed and anxious and crying and a complete useless wreck who wants to die,” but that title was too long. So instead, I decided to keep it pretty simple. Stress! What’s more relatable than being stressed? What author hasn’t experienced the nail-biting, lip-chewing, lying-awake-at-night-staring-at-the-ceiling-in-a-panic stress of the everyday challenges of writing life: whether your most recent submission is going to get rejected, where your next source of income is gonna come from, whether the ACA will get slashed, meaning that you lose your healthcare and could die of an infected paper cut, whether your people are going to be allowed to exist and live freely in the world anymore after an encouraging few years of progress. How relatable, am I right? Ha ha ha ha ha!
Ha, ha. Ha.
Yeah. In case you couldn’t tell, I’m a little stressed out right now. It’s been worse than usual since, well, November 2016. I’ve been doing my best, and I’ve been writing about how to keep going when the going gets tough, but honestly, I feel like a hypocrite. I’m barely getting myself out of bed in the morning. It’s getting harder and harder to convince myself to keep pushing on. Every waking moment, every happy thought seems to be undercut by that current of fear that the entire world as I know it is hanging off of the edge of a cliff by one finger and could fall at any moment, plunging me into even more chaos than I’m already submerged in.
What’s probably the worst part about it is that everyone around me seems to have acclimated. My family, my friends, my classmates, my distant acquaintances… all of them seem to be doing all right. They’re scared, obviously, and stressed too– who isn’t, at this point?– but they’re not barely holding it together like I am. And I honestly have no idea what to do about it, aside from pretending that I’m fine too, which has been backfiring spectacularly in a way that I may go into in a later, more official post.
I’m not entirely sure what the point of this post was, actually. Partially to vent, partially to record how I’m feeling on this odd, strangely-private-for-the-Internet diary that I’ve got going on. And, I think, partly to remind myself that I do need to keep going. It’s true that the world is going to shit. It’s true that my life is sorta kinda falling apart. It’s true that I’ve got things like AP tests and finals and the other unique challenges of high school to deal with along with the collapse of the civilised world. But despite all that, nothing’s going to get better if I stop trying. No matter how little my efforts seem to matter, no matter how little my pointless shouting into the void seems to accomplish, it’s another voice. And enough voices, no matter how quiet they all may be individually, can cause a landslide when united.
So, I guess, this is about me telling you, but mostly me, that we all need to keep fighting. Take some time off if you need to for the despair. Make sure to take care of yourself. But at the end of the day, at the end of this catastrophe, however long it lasts, do you want to say that you sat silently on the sidelines, or that you shouted back? That you fought?
I’m not sure what else to say, except that my usual tagline seems to have a little more purpose today than ever before. Always remember, loves, whatever happens. Just. Keep. Writing.