People hid things about themselves because they are paralyzed at the prospect of hearing judgment, because they don’t have the tools to heal, because they don’t know such tools exist, because they are cowed into accepting mistreatment.
I’ve begun to believe it myself. Every time I feel my chest get heavy, my hands get sweaty, my vision become disconnected, I tell myself to suck it up: that it’s all in my head. Maybe it is.
It’s the feeling that someone is always mad at you. Even if you can’t come up with a single reason why, you are sure you MUST have done something wrong.
I’ve dealt with anxiety since I was about 18 years old. Something happened around that age that made me realize I wasn’t in control of the world around me. I don’t consider my anxiety to be super debilitating and it doesn’t affect my life all that much on a large scale, but I have my triggers.
You can’t leave your house, yet you can’t sit still, either. Every action of the day is an immense battle of will.
2017 I hope you’ll be gentle, but if you mess with me I will fight you. Bye 2016. You were a major bitch, but now I’m a bigger one.
I’ve woken up in a panic because I thought my dog was dying when she was in fact, snoring.
Anxiety doesn’t care about how happy we are or what is going on in our lives. It is always there. No matter what we do, no matter where we are, and no matter who we are with, it can happen at any moment. The fear. The shaking. The images that cross our mind at lightning speed. The panic. The twirling of our hair. The need for more oxygen. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.
We are not any less intelligent than you are. We are not any less mature or put together than you are. We are all the same, except for the fact that we can’t put a bandaid or a cast on our wounds.
Anxiety is not a joke. Anxiety is not funny. Anxiety is not something to ever laugh at. Period.