I’m stressed out. Others notice it, too. Some think it’s because of my job. They’re not entirely wrong, but they’re also not entirely correct.
The truth is, I’m like the stress version of the Hulk–I’m always stressed. Everything stresses me out. I feel like I’m always on the verge of a breakdown, always ready to rage at whomever is nearby over everything that has irritated me that day.
It’s not healthy. I know it’s not. But I can’t help it. And then I start freaking out that my stress is going to set off my arrhythmia and I’m going to feel even worse if I go into afib. You might guess that doesn’t help the stress levels.
The truth is, I wasn’t made for the real world. I should be spending my days at home, writing, taking care of the house. But instead I not only work (as is necessary), but I chose a career where I’m constantly dealing with teenagers who think they know everything, and who expect me to treat them like adults when they won’t behave like adults. A career that is nearly universally hated in this country, where I’m constantly judged by people who don’t know the first thing about what I do but feel they have the right and the knowledge to critique me.
Okay, maybe it’s a little bit my job.