Focus Is Your Superpower — The Anatomy of a Mental Breakdown

I better edit something, even if it’s my own obituary.

Dear reader,

I’m able to finish my fiction and non-fiction writing, publish on Medium and read inside a 3-hour timeframe, on most days. Other days are not that great, and that is alright. If you’re having a mental breakdown right now, maybe my train of thoughts can help. I feel like it’s the end of the world every now and then, and I believe it’s normal. Don’t beat yourself too hard. Life is doing that already.

The anatomy of a mental breakdown.

The days of scattered clarity are the worst. I’m once again reminded that focus is my superpower. The only power that you can call ‘super.’ But on certain days it just won’t switch on. Dammit. My mind is all over the place. Every syllable, punctuation, and word is screaming at me incoherently.

“I’m powering through this,” I say to myself. I even write it on a post-it note and paste it on the wall next to my desk. “That’s right, take that you. I’m posting the f out of you with post-its.”

Then I realize that my phone battery is at 6%, and the charger is downstairs. Why do I even look at my phone? That’s the real question. I’ve got work to do.

Someone wants a Zoom meeting. Label: Important! Oh, why don’t they say essential, that’s what they really wanted to say. They think their voice is so important. Their words keep the world moving. Gods. Oh, I’m just bitching. Get back to work. Oh, this is a mess. I’m hungry. Do I need to eat? I get sloppy if I overeat. I’m not eating. Write, you little b****.

Ok, I’ve got 1000 barely coherent words down. Confetti pops in the background. Can I get coffee now? Yes! But this is my fourth cup today. I’m going to die. My heart is already racing. Drink more water, I make a mental note.

“Don’t look at the phone, don’t look at the phone,” I repeat the mantra until I look at the phone. I’ve got to reply to this. Oh, how the hell is already 7 pm. I hate myself. Write boi, write. You know so much about productivity and efficiency, and some days you can’t produce a death sentence. If someone has a gun to your head, your brans are going to be all over the wall. Water, drink more water. I take a sip. Oh, dear lord. I’m quitting. I should quit. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t! The crisis. Yea. Pandemic, quarantine, and all the nasty killers around. No one is hiring servers right now, right? Yea. I’m hating on that job too.

Why can’t I just finish this in 3 hours and continue with life? Or even better, why can’t I just get the money and sleep for a few weeks straight, and then take a vacation to Spain. I’m probably hating that too and complaining about how I’m not doing anything with my life. Nothing is ever good enough. Nothing.

How the hell is 9 pm? I better start editing something, even if it’s my own obituary. My girlfriend is mad. I can already hear her voice.

“…but I think if you finish your stuff sooner, we can do something together actually.”

I decide to stop the virtual argument before it gets out of hand.

For Ch**** sake. Parkinson’s Law. I’ve got this. Set the timer to 45min. Pareto. What is my best performing stuff? Ok, I edited something in productivity. What an irony. Am I just lying to all of these people? Maybe I’m just an asshole. Should I even continue doing this? Oh, gawd. This is horrendous. I better go back to finding “10 quotes that will make your sheep give more milk.” Do sheep even do milk? Don’t google, don’t google — another mental note.

Edit.Edit.Edit. Why did I write this? It’s stupid. Why do people even read my stuff? Keep on writing. That is the only thing you can do now. Write. Edit. Breathe.

Oh, it’s 1 am. She’s pissed. Find the cover photo for your article. Search for pets. Pets are great covers. But they have nothing to do with the actual piece. Is it even important? Do people even care about the relevant photos? I guess people want to see something nice. I’m going with this analogy because these puppies are making me so happy right now. Look at them.

Ok, I’ve got it. Let’s re-read. This sucks. Who would ever invest a minute of their time to stomach this monstrosity? I feel bad for the reader. I’m just fooling them as much as I’m fooling myself. That’s right. Nothing new here. Move along.

I’m done, somehow. What about fiction? I can write that tomorrow. No. I’m doing it right now. Another timer: 20 minutes. I’ve got this. Cap,cap,cap. I’m not even going to read what I’ve just written. I can edit some other day.

“Baby, I’m done.”

“You look like a psycho, you’re scaring me.”

“Well…”

“Are we ever going to sleep before 5 am?”

“That’s a million-dollar question.”