For about two-and-a-half months now, I have wondered what was wrong with me. I, who rarely cry, do so easily now. Usually patient, I have no patience with the human race these days. And I have felt out of sorts, as if I had … well … fallen down a rabbit hole. Thanks to my blogger-friend Elyse, blogging at FiftyFourAndAHalf, I now have a firm diagnosis, though not a cure, for that which ails me! I have PESD … I am so thrilled, that I just had to share her post! Please take a moment to read … and thank you, Elyse, for helping me to understand my disease! Now … can you cure me??? 🙂
Feeling down in the mouth? Discouraged? Hopeless?
You’re not alone.
When I’m suffering with something-or-other, it really helps to know that I’m not alone. Since November 9, 2016, there’s been a veritable epidemic of misery sweeping the nation. Relax, though. Because your misery now has a name, an actual diagnosis:
We’re all suffering from PESD. Although frankly, I don’t know why they needed a new diagnosis. Because if the election of Donald Trump doesn’t represent a traumatic event, I don’t know what does.
The only treatment is action.