Last night’s Game of Thrones was so intense, I felt like a preteen realizing her frenemies stole her clothes while she was skinny-dipping in the lake. I woke up this morning gasping for air, feeling after-shock shivers, and dreading my day.
I know what you’re thinking: that sounds like any humdrum Monday, Jill. But for the last five weeks, stress over Game of Thrones has overthrown my mental health—and you might be suffering too.
Do you wake up Monday mornings traumatized by nightmares of dragons toasting you like a loaf of brioche? Do you trudge through the day fearing your greatest allies and advisors will betray you? Do you feel an overwhelming sense of impending doom, as if your city might fall to a Mad Queen at any moment, or your castle walls could come tumbling down over your pregnant body? Then you may be suffering from Game of Thrones like me.
As much as I dread this show’s coming to an end next Sunday—it’s truly my favorite—I’m ready to start implementing self-care again. My Sundays used to shimmer with that late-afternoon brunch glow. I used to spend time with my parents. Do laundry. Relax. Vape.
I yearn for the days where I could prance through my apartment in stained, tattered sweatpants with the freedom and innocence I had before season eight of Game of Thrones. I actually miss lounging in bed on Sunday nights as I scroll endlessly through the void, fearing the toils of everyday life, being unlovable, and suffering from existential dread. Now I just have night terrors about dying at the hand of a bewitched warlord.
My hope for next Monday is that I wake up freed from the chains of Game of Thrones, ready to take on my Mondays with the apathy I used to, rather than the Big Breakdown Energy that now exudes from my pores.
So to you, Game of Thrones, I’ll just say: Have mercy on what’s left of my mental health. Please. I have a family.
Jill Gutowitz is a writer and comedian living in Los Angeles.