I am Emily's Overexerted Adrenal Glands

In case you haven’t noticed (and if you haven’t then you’re not paying enough attention to me and can go kick rocks), I’ve been a bit stressed as of late. And rightfully so.

(If you still don’t know what I’m talking about go here. And here. And try and stay with the program. K. Thanx. Preesh.)

Is it irrational to assume that I have now become the poster child for recession repercussions? Because it’s hitting pretty close to home as of late. Job hunting and pinching pennies. Endless tears and mounting panic attacks. That pretty much sums up my current circumstances.

I am Emily’s ulceric stomach lining.

I’ve found myself in brief moments of “coping” with said circumstances as they arise sporadically. They tend to vacillate about as frequently as my moods and not surprisingly coincide with them as well. From angry and screaming, to tearful and helpless, to strong and empowered, it’s not uncommon to find myself bouncing between different extremities at any given day.

But at the end of each, I’ve found my only solace in masking the pain, the stress, the problems. Burying it deep, deep down and ignoring it in the hopes that maybe tomorrow morning they will all be gone. Washed away and never really materialized from my nightmares into actual reality. In hiding and ignoring it I don’t have to admit defeat. Something I’ve never quite been good at as an oldest-child suffering from perfectionist disorder and the unrelenting resolve to never fail at anything.

Well I have and I am. This is what it feels like and this is how I’m dealing with it.

I am Emily’s cirrhotic liver.

When will things get better? When will the rain finally stop pouring? When will the sun finally come out and dry the now rusted and tarnished goods? When will the warmth finally permeate my soul, quenching my anxiety, calming my fears and healing what’s left of me? The small pieces that haven’t already been irreparably damaged? Are there any even left?

I am Emily’s rapidly deteriorating hope.