Every three weeks, without a doubt, I completely lose it and become the worst human being on earth.

I don’t know whether it is the constant pressure to perform, do it well and repeat it all over again, but something is definitely in the works.

It is like I accumulate stress over these three weeks, despite implementing healthy coping mechanisms. And one weekend, I shut myself in the room, go underneath my heavy blanket and proceed to bawl my eyes out while watching “Twilight.”

Everything starts to feel unbearably hard, and I begin to attack myself in all aspects. Why don’t I look, behave and exist in a certain way?

Why can’t I just be a rich, nepo baby supermodel whose only problem in the world is hiding from the paparazzi?

Instead, I am stuck in a constant cycle of building and rebuilding, finding all the ways in which I am “wrong” and will never be “right.” During this monthly crashout, I render myself worthless — and I don’t know what to do about it.

Many can relate to the emotions, and yet in the moment, it feels like I’m the only person who feels this way. My brain says I’m the problem, and everyone else is just fine — not dealing with constant imposter syndrome and self-loathing.

Of course, this only happens two to three days out of the entire month. So, most of the time, I do not, in fact, feel like a nervous wreck.

But boy, when I do, it is hell on earth for me and anyone else around me.

My mom gets long voice messages about me missing her and not being able to stand another lunch at the dining hall. She hears my complaints about the extra fat on my legs, which somehow magically appeared in the span of one day, because I could’ve sworn it wasn’t there before.

Overall, it’s not a fun time for anybody.

I’ve made an interesting observation, though. Whenever this happens, it is always when I am not busy enough to have my head buried in work. And what I’ve come to learn is that I shouldn’t be left to my own wits.

Our world has ingrained hustle culture so deeply into us that when there is nothing to bustle about, we begin to crash out.

My brain gets too much time to think, and I begin to question why I’m doing the things I am doing. Will I even make money being a journalism major? Or will I end up being a miserable high school English teacher?

Not to discourage anyone from studying journalism or teaching in high school, but the future is scary.

When my brain gets too much time out from the things that keep it booked and busy, I cannot handle it.

But I’m learning not to care.

I used to dig myself into a deeper hole by trying to interpret what this crashout meant: Was this a way of my body trying to tell me what I was doing so far was wrong? No.

Sometimes you have to humble yourself. Girl, sit down and go outside or something.

When I feel the heaviness of impending doom knocking on my chest, I shut my laptop, take a few deep breaths and try to do something that will return me to my body.

Those free drop-in yoga classes at BU FitRec have been a blessing. Every time I take one, my entire body feels silenced — in a good way, of course.

I begin to go through my day slower and more intentionally. And then I feel like things will be okay.

So, while I know that, without a doubt, a crashout is on the way at one point or another, it doesn’t matter. I will get up from my bed after sobbing in it for a good hour or two and will move on with my life.

That is something that I owe to myself — no matter how much it hurts or feels wrong. I will keep showing up, keep moving forward and — at some point or another — I hope it will be okay.

I cannot tell the future, so I can only focus on what I have now. Let me be gentle and tend to my wounds.

It is far easier to be mean and vicious to yourself than to inhale and trust that things will work out one way or another.

That negative, worrisome voice in your head is just trying to protect you, but sometimes we need protection from it.

So, thank it for being so considerate, but we got this.

You got this.

Till we meet again,

N.