I slipped and fell in the bathroom. What is wrong with me? How am I supposed to intubate tiny little tracheas with a f*ckin’ laryngoscope, when I can’t even hold scissors and not cripple myself. Ok, I’ve already done the intubation thing. I never messed up badly. But still, most of the time I’m breathless with fear.
I hate change. I keep convincing myself that change is really good for me, but it makes me wanna scream. I like having a plan of the days to come. This year, I have already accepted that there will be no vacation for me. I won’t see the sea. I won’t lie in the sun or go for a swim. This was already hard enough on me. I cried, I had a meltdown, but eventually I had to accept that we just don’t have the money and I don’t have the time. So I swallowed hard and put up with it.
Now, how do you think I would react to a suggestion like “Let’s travel to the sea over the weekend”? Right, it’s pure panic. I can’t just pack my bag and go, because I HAVE THINGS TO DO. I have stuff to learn. I have doctor’s appointments. I have to sign the contract. We have not become miraculously rich. There is enough change in my life already. I can’t bear any more of this.
I’ve become a bit oversensitive to other people’s voices, to sharing a space with strangers, like, let’s say, a train or a bus. It makes me uncomfortable. It makes me wanna scream and hide. It’s too much input at the moment and I think I may burst. Being a university student was good. I knew what I had to do. I had to study, I had to pass those exams, than I would come home, pack my bag and explore the world. But back than I was on vacation. I was free. Life went by at its usual pace. It felt a safe place to be.
Growing up makes me wanna curl up in the embryo pose and scream a bit.
