Are We Doomed?
I have diagnosed anxiety and post-traumatic stress. I’ve been dealing with some level of this kind of discomfort — a weak stomach, bouts of irrational panic, crying when I’m overstimulated in any way, and so on — probably for as long as I’ve been aware of the world around me. I’ve only been medicated and had it under control since 2019, but it explains a lot about why I was so weird and uncomfortable so much of the time even as a teenager.
I think it comes from needing to know what’s going on. It’s something a lot of disabled people struggle with: things change so quickly, and so many things are out of our control, but we need to have a plan ahead of time to do pretty much anything successfully. It’s bled over into other areas of my life; the unknown in all its forms scares me. Not knowing what I should do with the rest of my life sent me into a deep depression in 2018. Feeling so in between and unsettled at the moment is a hard position to be in.
If I let myself feel everything I feel on a given day — physically tired, mentally drained, annoyed, anxious, pissed off, hopeless, insignificant, among other things — it’d be very, very hard to want to get out of bed when my alarm goes off in the morning. I’m known for being a generally content and positive person, but what most people don’t know is that it takes effort. I have to tell myself not to worry, to find the good in things, that I’m going to be all right, that every ridiculous scenario I’ve come up with isn’t actually going to happen.
I’m good at it; I’ve had a lot of practice. It’s the reason why I can go to work every day. Why I can find joy in my work. Why I’m so amused and delighted by seemingly tiny and meaningless things. Why I try to see the good in people, and why I don’t genuinely dislike anyone for no reason. It’s not ignorance: it’s survival. I don’t stick my head in the sand and ignore everything else that isn’t within a three-foot radius around me or that isn’t in the present moment. The whole problem is that I don’t. I’m a sensitive person; I feel deeply, I’m probably too thoughtful, and I tend to have a hard time letting things go.
It creates an overwhelming amount of existential dread. If I let my mind wander at work, on the bus or train, while scrolling through the news on Twitter, or laying awake at 1 o’clock in the morning, I tend to ask myself the same questions over and over. Has everything I’ve done been worth it? Is everything I want to do worth it? Will I be able to change for the better, or will it all be for nothing? Does anyone actually care about me the way I care about them? Does what I do matter? Is the world actually a better place than it seems? Is it really worse than it seems?
My answers to those questions change every day. It feels like the world gets more out of control every day. It feels like things are happening faster and faster, and like there’s nothing we can do about it. I feel so tiny, like nothing I do or could ever do will make any sort of difference; a drop in the bucket if you will. Sometimes I question if I should care at all. People who think and feel that way aren’t necessarily smarter or more aware. The internet and communities like Reddit are negative echo chambers that make it seem like we should all be miserable, and anyone who doesn’t agree “doesn’t get it.” It’s extremely easy — too easy, in fact — to get caught up in scrolling through it all and spiral.
And for some reason, when it all feels like it’s too much, I hang onto a tiny sliver of hope. The idea that there’s potential for good in the future keeps me going. I don’t think expecting doom is the right approach. In a world like the one we’re living in, I actually think hope and a little optimism are radical. I realize this may read like nothing more than a whole bunch of contradictions; I’m fine with that, because two things can be true at the same time. One doesn’t negate the other. Hope can exist in fear. It’s there all the time, whether we choose to look for it or not.