No, is the answer. It is not just you. It is never just you. Sorry if this makes you feel un-special but part of flowering into a grown-up member of the human race is letting go of special. Obviously you are special but, in the context of ‘Is it just me?’ you are not. Only serial killers are.
And why moan when you can spend your days fending off full-blown panic? Why complain and kvetch the way grown-up women are accused of doing when you can wrap yourself in the familiar pain of barbed wire anxiety?
And it isn’t just you triggered from sunny into sad by… Oh God it happened so quickly you don’t even know why you were content 12 seconds ago and you are miserably murderous now. And jealous. So jealous. And threatened. And superior. Yet utterly, utterly lacking and less than.
It is never just you. Feelings are not unique. They all batter us at once like torrential, emotion – the good, the bad and the corrosive. Of course it’s not just you. That’s why The Midult is here. If we’re not in it together, we’re not in it at all.