Good morning!

Every time I go to Atlanta*, I come back.** But when that happens, for some reason I fall into a sinkhole that is very tricky to get out of.

In the past, I’ve had things go wrong with my flights. I’ve misread the ams and pms, or I’ve missed it completely because security at Hartsfield-Jackson is truly a jungle of annoyances that can take anywhere from 10 minutes to 3 hours to navigate. So what I have done is sat at the gate for the day and sobbed for three hours. And then–voila! I’m fine and I come back and go about my life as I did before the trip.

But the last couple of times, flying has gone absolutely smoothly, with no delays or midair crashes or outages of my first choice drink. So instead of a purge and brisk renewal, I’m like a balloon someone is letting the air out of with a squeak. My chest is depressurized and my brain is clinging to all the terrible things happening in the world and my body is sinking into anxiety attacks at random times. It’s horrible.

It’s been a week, and it still sucks. My life is a bundle of joys that right now I’m looking at from the outside.

Mostly I just wanted to tell any other depressed people out there, I see you. I’m sorry life sucks right now. You don’t have to have ‘got this’. Ask for help if you need. Hang in there. Look at cat pictures. Call the suicide hotline: 988.

 

*To visit family, which is a major culture shock, although often very nice.

**Because that’s how traveling works.