I am moving. Cross an ocean, to a new city, a new life.
I am moving. To a tenure track job, finally getting out of the postdoctoral grind.
I am moving. This never goes well for me. Questioning why I keep the things I keep, handling complex logistics that consumes large amounts of money — these things hit me straight in my mental sore spots.
I am moving. My brain caught up with this when I cleared out my old office last week of May. Since then, I have been an emotional wreck, crashing out several times a week — often daily.
And yet… even if this is one of the worse periods I've had in a long time, even if I keep crashing out constantly, keep lashing out, keep breaking into pieces, crying over nothing, a labil emotional wreck, this is better than it has been.
Even if it is bad, I know where this is coming from: moving is stressing me out, more than most things do. Stressing me out aggravates everything else.
It's bad right now. But it is not arbitrarily bad. It is not unexplainably bad. I have a causal chain, and with that there is an end in sight.
Eventually the move is done, and I will have settled in, and the stress will calm down again.
Eventually it will be good again.
Eventually the medication combination I have now, the combination that gave me several quiet months during the spring, will win over the moving stress and I will be back to stability.
This too will pass.
