It's OK not to be OK

It had been a terrible week, an extension of a terrible month, an extension of a terrible year. Honestly, Macey couldn’t remember the last time life hadn’t felt terrible, but nobody wants to think too much about that. She was stuck in a job where, although the pay was good, made her work tooth and nail for every last penny of that pay. Her doctor was adjusting her medications, so every few weeks she would optimistically change a dose or go in for a lab, just for her mood to start slipping again a few days later. Macey still went out, had friends, performed well at work. Honestly, she kept extremely busy to distract from the possibility that maybe she wasn’t doing well. To the naked eye, Macey led a full life that others would pine over. She reminded herself of this every time even the word “terrible” brushed past her consciousness.

Here she was though, this week, in particular, had felt like the bitter icing on a cake that nobody wanted. Macey was extra exhausted from a growing workload on top of an already insurmountable list of responsibilities. She had gone rock climbing this past weekend, an attempt at physical activity. Her therapist had recommended exercise to provide that natural, endorphin-fueled mood boost. Honestly, from the top of that wall Macey felt mostly two things: searing pain in her undertrained forearms and her frequently forgotten (or perhaps ignored) fear of heights. She chose to focus on the pain in her arms over the immense distance between her precariously perched position and the floor. As Macey reached for the next hold, her shaky, tired arms gave up on her. She saw her fingers lose their death grip of the rough holds. She blinked, and saw the ceiling, once oddly close and within reach, flying higher above her head. She tried to blink again but there wasn’t enough time, just the sudden impact of her back on thick padded floor and her chin against her chest at a point where they weren’t meant to meet. It took her a second to figure out where in the world she was and why it felt like she was vibrating up the entire length of her spine. Macey spent the rest of the day dazed, she had been reassured that although it wasn’t the right way to fall off a wall, people fell all the time. Waves of headaches and nausea started to creep in, sometimes her fingers tingled, she’d pause with forgetfulness wondering what exactly she was doing with the object in her hands. The doctor said she had a minor concussion, nothing serious but required something she wasn’t sure she could do: rest.

Doctor’s orders to take it easy, so why was she still at work? Not only was she at work, it was an hour after she was supposed to be off and she was still running about like a chicken without its head. All week, it had been short-staffed at work (when wasn’t it?). Macey was working double-time, picking up duties where sick or tired coworkers were starting to slip. (Wasn’t she sick and tired? She didn’t give herself room to be.) Her head pounded and if she paused for too long she’d lose track of what she was doing. Macey had mentioned the concussion to her supervisors, her difficulty focusing and worsening headaches (not to mention the back pain more attuned to a 60-year-old man from her magnificent “back flop”). Any concerns were quickly dismissed: 

“Oh no, hope you’re feeling better! Don’t forget to clean up after you close”

“That’s terrible! I’m sure you’ll feel better when we see you tomorrow morning!”

Macey felt like she had gone insane, surely if a friend or coworker had told her they had a concussion, she’d have berated them for getting up and about, let alone working. Maybe a concussion wasn’t a serious problem. Maybe the doctor’s orders were just a gentle suggestion and wishful thinking, like 8 hours of sleep or no screen time before bed. 

So here she found herself, Macey had collapsed in her bed after a 12 hour shift. She was staring at yet another ceiling. Her head pulsed with dull pain atop her shoulders. She considered ways to maybe just lop the entire painful skull off but lost focus part way through most of her plans. Macey’s phone lit up next to her, bright white in the dark room. Her sunflower screensaver “be happy” mocked her in her misery. She squinted at the little message preview: “How’re you feeling?”. Macey’s best friend had seen her fantastic fall and knew she wasn’t in great shape. Macey didn’t want to worry her though. Macey went to start texting back: 

“I’m doing goo-”.  

Suddenly, all the pent up exhaustion and frustration and physical failings came bubbling to the top and the subsequent wall of blue text bubbles she could only describe as “emotional vomit”.

“sorry that was a downer response”

“I asked how you’re doing bc I genuinely wanted to know, not bc I wanted a generic good”

Macey suddenly felt her ears get wet. That’s gross. Stray tears streaming into her ears soon became loud sobs became incosolable screams into a pillow. She blamed the concussion for her sudden outburst of feelings (emotional lability was totally a symptom of concussions, she googled it). She picked her phone up, at this point incoherent but social anxiety dictating that she not leave a friend hanging.

“Thanks for that”

Validation. Macey was just looking for confirmation from the world around her that she wasn’t okay. Permission from the universe to feel terrible. Macey had spent so much time and energy trying not to feel terrible that she didn’t have any room to try to feel better. Macey felt the splitting pain in her head, the pauses where her train of thought would derail for just a second, the tingling numbness in her fingers. For the first time since her fall, since before the fall, she acknowledged that all of these things were happening in her own body, that sometimes things were genuinely terrible, and at the same time, that eventually (with some rest and self care), they would get better.