You hate that the shit corny works. You hate that a fucking gratitude journal is scientifically proven to lower your cortisol levels. You hate that stroking your arms and patting your chest and running your knuckles down your Fucking Vagus nerve regulates the autonomic nervous system. You hate that it helps to hold a fucking squish mallow during a panic attack.

You hate how much it works to go vooooooooooooo until you run out of breath and you’re just supposed to do that in the front seat of your parked car next to a bagel shop and people are going to walk by and see you. Really? Really.

You hate that you’re supposed to talk to your anger and welcome your panic and surf the wave of your anxiety instead of pushing them away because then and only then can they not only be tolerable but actually kind of productive instead of coming back concentrated like frozen fucking orange juice. You hate that getting sunlight matters so much cuz apparently you’re a dandelion.

You hate that being around people, not even talking to them, not even people you know, just being in a public place is critically important because you’re a homosocial mammal.

Fuck homosociality. Fuck mammals.

You hate that you don’t hate the sound of singing bowls. You hate that you’re going to follow the advice from this PHP handout that is written in fucking papyrus.

You hate that you don’t ride your bike even though you know it’s good for your body and it’s good for your brain and you like riding your bike because none of those seem like good enough reasons. You should be riding it to someplace and there’s nowhere you need to go on a bike. Everywhere you need to go is either a little too close or a little too far, so it’s just covered in spiderwebs and the tires you paid to replace are going flat.

You hate that making your bed every morning is an actually good idea. not least because it validates Jordan Peterson and he hasn’t earned that.

You hate that this shit is not just self-rescue for when you’re falling apart, but daily practices you’re supposed to keep up after this shit levels out. That not doing this shit is a warning sign that you have to ask, “Am I caring for my space? Have I been in the sun? Have I been around people?” Because those are normal things to do. And if you haven’t been doing them, that’s not necessarily just like, you know, your vibe, you’re an introvert, but evidence that you’re not doing well.

And pointing out, oh, hey, hey, hold up there. I’ve never done that shit consistently. That is not counter evidence. That is more evidence that you have not been doing well for some time. And that these are not responsibilities you should smack yourself into doing, but acts of self-love. And if you’re not doing them, it’s not because you’re lazy. It’s because you don’t right now like yourself enough. So what? You’re just supposed to keep doing this after it gets better every day for the rest of your goddamn life. The problem with mental health is it’s fucking cringe.