I had a guy today ask me if he could have a case of bags, as he works with a local charity and they could use them. I started to explain that no, sorry, I couldn’t just give them to him, that a protocol needs to be followed for donations, but he cut me off and stormed away. Fine. Well low and behold, he decides to come back and tell me that I need to work on my people skills and that I’m a miserable person.
Really? Just because I wouldn’t just give you something? Tough shit, bucco.
But that kind of put a damper on a relatively decent day.
Maybe I take things too personally. I always have. I’ve internalized every comment that’s been made about me within my earshot. Friends, teachers, family, employers, therapists, doctors, you name it. And it sucks.
I’ve been thinking a lot about my mental health and wellness recently. I think that for too long I’ve let the fact that I have bipolar disorder and anxiety define too much of who I am. Sure, it’s a part of me, it’s shaped me into who I am, but aren’t I more than my diagnoses? Am I not a person outside of them?
How much does this hold true for so many of us? Do we measure our worth based on our stability? Or things we’ve done while in an episode, good or bad? Are we constantly atoning for mistakes that we made years ago, especially when we we’re exactly ourselves when they happened? Are we unduly punishing ourselves for mistakes we’ve already paid for?
Ugh, sometimes I hate the space inside of my head.