The past few months have been so kind to me. My self-esteem and my acceptance for the world grew. My love-life makes me intensely happy. My family is alright and they love me. I found a new job before I ran out of money, and my new colleagues seem to be happy to have me around. I look at all this and I think to myself: “I should be happy.”
But I’m restless. I can hardly sleep past six in the morning, when the birds and the light beckon me to get busy. I have trouble concentrating on one task for more than an hour. Whenever I write something, say something, do something, I immediately realise that it’s not the best I ever did, but I just don’t know how to correct it. My memory is playing tricks on me; I forget the laundry in the machine again, and anything that happens with a delay. I even forget meetings with friends. Which makes me feel flaky and horrible.
Maybe flaky is what I do under pressure. Maybe I need to learn to relax again. Maybe I’m just trying to protect myself from disappointment, anxiously waiting for the proverbial other shoe to drop and make my life a stressfull mess again.
Well, I’m open to ideas, what do you think?