Wednesdays often turn out to be my hardest day of the week.
I say ‘turn out’ because ‘hump day’ takes me by surprise nearly every week. I’ll be busy-ing along reasonably happily on Mondays and Tuesdays, not really minding what or how much I’m managing to achieve, then, boom! Wednesday arrives. How is it that this takes me by surprise? I’ve been kicking around the planet for 56 years now and no one changed the calendar during my lifetime. You’d think I’d have got the hang of it.
On the positive side, maybe I’m getting more done on the first two days of the week than I realise. Maybe the not-really-minding means that (slightly unwittingly) I’m achieving quite a lot. Maybe I just need to relax a little on Wednesdays. And here’s a thought: If I stop and think about it intelligently I might realise that plenty of people struggle with Wednesdays. That might sound obvious, but one of the biggest difficulties of living with my mental health condition is that it confuses my understanding of reality and conventionality. It lies and steals and takes all my strength to try to resist. It cons me into thinking that much of my experience is subnormal and I’m alone in this land of perceived inadequacy. Then, as I’m falling for the con, my screaming emotions start lurching dangerously into the red as if they’re developing a taste for death metal.
Recovery takes far more time than I’m happy about. But not every bout is completely draining, and often, after what I’ve perceived to be just a mild bout, I’ll try to ignore it and force myself to keep going. This never works. (Reminder to self: Debbie, this never works!)