Matcha Meltdown and Bad Days

I"ve had a rough couple of days.  I've been having trouble sleeping, but this is more than that.  Basically, I was having a really good streak- exercising, going to the cafe, writing, and reading books.  Hardly any YouTube to speak of.  But then I had a bad day- couldn't concentrate on anything, couldn't get it together to write, felt furious with the barista for being a smug little bitch.  He was making me and Matt get these weird drinks because they don't have normal matcha and their coffee is shit.  And then I heard him talking about how he's going to Guatemala on some "origins" coffee sourcing trip.  The kid's about 17.  I hated him so much I couldn't get anything done after that.  Matt and I left and I managed to keep from saying anything snarky or rude- I mean, we go to this cafe a lot.  We want to be able to go back.  I went home, straight to bed, cried a lot.  Matt made me lunch, rubbed my feet, did some crossword puzzles with me.  Why did I get so pissed off?  Why did I sabotage the day? Because of some annoying 17-year-old?  Yup.  That kid thought he had life all figured out, just like I did when I was 17 and went to Kenya.  I don't remember being smug, but maybe I was.  Regardless, this kid embodied everything I wish I could get back from my youth: confidence, idealism, optimism.  It felt like he was throwing it in my face, and it hurt.  A lot.  So much that I turned hopeless and bed-ridden.  I stayed that way the next day, too.  Trouble sleeping, tried to get out the door to the cafe, then the sudden need to lie down with my coat on.  I couldn't face it.  This life that I've botched so badly.  These pathetic little tasks that I've set up for myself to do.  My habit tracker.  My blog.  My self-absorbed little world where I collapse and Matt saves me.  I found myself feeling like my rigid schedule was closing in on me.  8:30am: Get up. Drink coffee. 9am: Exercise, shower. 10am: Cafe, try to write.  1:30pm: Home for lunch, lie down or read. 5:30pm: Start cooking dinner. 6:30pm: Finish dinner. 8pm: Bed. Maybe a crossword puzzle. And then wake up and start all over again.  I did this every day when Matt was in Germany, and before, and since.  I apparently need 12 hours of sleep- and this is on the good meds.  Any less than that and I'm zonked.  Exercise is just so much work.  The only time I felt good was at the cafe.  Afternoons and evenings were spent warding off "the bad feeling," a horrible feeling that sets in every night after dinner.  It's not anxiety, sort of depression, completely awful.  But the time at the cafe, that was good.  I felt productive, creative, intelligent, thoughtful.  I relied on those couple of hours every day as the one good thing I get.  This little time slot where I could build up some self-worth.  But after that day with the smug kid, I felt like it was all gone.  I would never be able to rely on those hours at the cafe.  It would be a crapshoot like the rest of my day- Will I sleep through the night? Will I be able to exercise? Will I be able to eat the same thing today as every other day?  Will I be able to ward off the bad feeling?  Will I be able to check off everything on my habit tracker- like brush teeth, do skincare?  That time at the cafe felt like a sure thing and now it's not.  And so I shut down, felt hopeless, like I couldn't rely on ever feeling good again.  When there's so little time to work with, all I ask is that some of it is consistently positive.  Now it feels like that's gone- the magic is gone.  I've been jinxed.  Matt says, "It was one bad day.  Not every day will be the same."  I know he's right.  So I think I need to try to free things up a bit.  I tend to get very rigid: Minimalism, capsule wardrobe, meal schedule, diet, exercise.  And I have a hard time switching things up, letting things vary here or there.  Especially with diet or exercise, I am practically obsessive.  If I don't know how many calories are in it, I don't eat it.  I can't just randomly change my speed or time on the treadmill.  I have to stick to the schedule.  At what point does all of this rigidity become superstition?  I'm trying to ward off feeling bad all the time by keeping my rituals, keeping everything on time.  But the fact of the matter is that there is no guarantee, no special protection from feeling bad.  I'm still mentally ill- doing a bit better, but still sick.  And not every day can be as good as every other.  What may seem obvious to some is actually a scary thing for me, because a bad day for me can be a really bad day.  It can mean suicidal thoughts, self-harming thoughts, deep regret and remorse and hopelessness.  I know things can't always be perfect, but the chance of having a day that bad shouldn't even be on the table.  My doctor says my brain is slowly changing, even though I've been on the same meds for a while now.  I have to wait and let it heal.  Maybe at some point there will be a safeguard from the worst days.  But I'm still waiting, still waiting and watching and hoping.