Self-possessed

I had a minor nervous breakdown over the weekend, figuratively speaking of course. I don’t know what an actual nervous breakdown feels like, but I imagine that it’s much worse than what I went through.

It began on Friday, a jittery, dark feeling that was with me when I woke up. I’m not too good in the mornings anyway, so I went about my day as usual and had lunch with my mum and grandma at a gallery/café in town. Being outside in the general population makes me nervous anyway, people walking towards me, trying to figure out which side of the pavement they’re going to take, some of them passing by too close or getting in my way. It all sends the blood pressure up. But this time I felt like I was going to burst into tears, and I struggled against the urge to hyperventilate, digging my fingernails into my palms to ground myself.

The rest of the day, and much of the weekend, has been one long over-caffeinated sensation despite the fact that I’ve drunk no more tea than usual. On Friday I was jittery, on Saturday I was shrinking in on myself, and on Sunday I was well enough to pretend to smile as I did the weekly food shop with my parents. It was like a really dark, paranoid version of that Craig David song.

All of this isn’t exactly the problem. Okay, none of these things were pleasant emotional states to go through, but the main problem is the lack of a warning or an obvious reason for them. I was fine on Thursday, my usual pessimistic and idiotic self, so my crash and burn is all the more unnerving for its suddenness. 

I’ve always thought that life would be that much easier if I had any self-awareness at all; it’s only recently occurred to me that all of this might have happened because I have a job interview this week. No worries, I likely won’t get it as it’s all about technical writing and I can barely operate a torch.

If only my brain could have let me know that that was the reason for my pseudo-nervous breakdown it would have been a lot easier. I could have breathed a sigh of relief that I wasn’t as insane as I feared, and accepted that I was nervous about something that’s logical to be nervous about. I’m hoping this ignorance is a symptom of youth, that I’ll become more self-aware as I get older, but that’s a false hope. I don’t think anyone really knows what they’re doing or why they’re doing it half the time, and that’s what’s comforting about the human race. To know that you’re not the only one who has to really think hard about why you’re feeling a particular emotion, what caused a change in your mood and trying to decipher it all from low blood sugar or hormones.

Wouldn’t it be wonderful if each of us received a manual when we’re born: “All About You.” With a diagram of your mind, each section and details on every aspect of your personality. Surely it wouldn’t be too much to ask?