Hi. Day 10 here in Resolution Corner. I’m thinking it’s time for a mental-health check-in.

If you’re here for facts, motivation, inspirational quotes or advice, I’d like to start by showing you the door. You’re in the wrong place. You were looking for church and stumbled upon the basement AA meeting, only you didn’t even make it there. You got caught in the hallway outside the meeting, with the lost souls who know how to show up, but haven’t worked up to walking in. That’s my corner of the blogosphere, and guess what, I’m not alone here. If I’ve learned anything from spreading my particular style of mind-vomit here on the interwebs, it’s this. Everyone is either totally screwed up, or screwed up but great at self-editing for social media and passers-by at the grocery store.

I shouldn’t assume everyone is screwed up. Maybe you’re not.

Maybe life is good for you right now, but you make yourself sick with worry that it could all fall in around you at any moment. That’s my brand of crazy. I like to imagine the worst-case scenario, but I don’t stop there. I think of another dozen ways something could go wrong. In fact, I often spin myself into thinking there’s no possible way things could go right. I lie awake at night and go over what I would do if there were a fire, a storm, an intruder… you get the idea. That’s my normal. I actually lost precious sleep last night wondering if my stomach ache could be a mysterious illness that might kill me in my sleep. That’s lovely enough on it’s own, but it leads to a whole new set of problems. They aren’t my problems, because if you’ll remember, I’m dead in this half-baked scenario. No, I imagined what an annoying burden it would be if I died when the house was this messy, or when I had paperwork and files stacked and scattered across my desk, and God-knows-what all over the bathroom counter. It would be such a pain in the ass for my loved ones. All the passwords live in my head. That is not a safe place to keep anything, as you’ve probably surmised by now.

Maybe you’re not my kind of crazy. Maybe you get in the car and just drive, never worrying that along the way you might meet some asshole who’s texting or trying to eat fucking pancakes while he drives. That’s good. You shouldn’t think about that. Maybe you never worry about yourself at all. I know what kind of crazy you are. You absorb the problems of everyone around you. Does this sound familiar? Do you lie awake at night and worry about your children texting while driving, your siblings drinking too much, or that every stomach pain your mom has could be a mysterious fatal illness? You’re the selfless kind of worrier. You’re not an ego-maniac like myself. You’re not concerned with your own mortality, but immerse yourself in the troubles around you. You don’t live in this world. It lives in you. Your heart is not your own, but is made up of pieces of everyone you love, and each piece is walking around outside your body causing you heartache. You are empathetic. You are a giver. You are also a little screwed up.

Maybe you don’t have the emotional capacity to look outside yourself and worry about those around you. Maybe you look around, and it seems everyone is doing life a little better than you are.  Maybe you don’t have to resort to playing made-up scenarios on repeat to give yourself a mysterious stomach ache. Maybe you feel like you are living and breathing the worst-case scenario. I know that place. I’ve dabbled in the depths of despair, and it’s a deep hole with no foot-holds. I also know that from down there, deep in the hole you’ve dug, you can’t see what’s going on around you. If you could, you’d know that everyone you love is waiting for you to get your ass climbing. Maybe that’s a shitty metaphor. Maybe I’m a shitty writer. I used a thesaurus two paragraphs back, so I’m really trying here.

Maybe you’re not screwed up at all. Maybe you look at life like a snapchat filter with glitter confetti and a pop song in the background. Good vibes all around. I do hope that’s the case. I do hope that kind of mindset exists, because that’s a resolution if I’ve ever heard one.

That reminds me, I came here to update you on my resolutions. I’m de-cluttering the house. I’ve lost eight pounds. I’ve had a few headaches and a nasty little stomach bug, which would probably be cured by Dr. Pepper or wine. I still yell a lot. The bullet journal idea was not compatible with the previously-mentioned mind-vomit. I don’t organize my thoughts or my junk drawer. It’s just who I am. In the name of self-acceptance, I’m going to give up the bullet journal and write down all my passwords somewhere instead.