I was decimating an ant swarm around my kitchen door (which already seemed to be dying) when one ant walked up on my foot and pointedly bit me. It felt like on tiny voice of rage and defiance, defending his tribe, expressing himself. I killed him, told him I was sorry, and realized I can relate. That’s what I feel like when I’m battling depression and anxiety. The size and futility ratio feel about the same.
That said I’ve been feeling good this week, and maybe I’m winning the battle, but sometimes it just seems random. Like I could have just as easily turned right into the house with the death soap bucket, but I happened to turn left into the sugar pile today.
Current state of ants and anxiety – detente.