One night in February, my husband and I were bickering about our car. He said something that pissed me off and I snapped like a worn out hair tie: I hollered absurd accusations, stormed up and down the stairs and ugly-cried until I was too tired to function. Though I knew I was being wild at the time, my emotions felt terminal.
The next morning I wrote in my journal, “Something is starting to shift with my mental health.” Throughout the entry, it’s clear I was confused and distraught. I pondered the same question ad nauseam: what is wrong with me?
