The brutally ironic part is: I already overthink everything so I kind of know I’m breaking the very heart I crave and adore.
Never date a girl with anxiety unless you are comfortable with silence. Because there are some days when she won’t feeling like saying a word.
My friends and I would hang together, and through comedic love, I would spend most of my time consoling and uplifting them, only to go home alone and cry alone.
Phase Four And A Half. You start to come up with all sorts of reasons why this is doomed to fail. Oh, and by the way, what is “this” anyway?
Take a deep breath in and out. Do that 10 times. Do that 10 more times and then again. You’ve reached silence. Your bath has begun and you can work to soothe out all the kinks going on upstairs in your mind.
Grieving feels like being tangled up, suffocating, choking on your own emotions. It feels like a wave, a tsunami of unknown and uncertain. It feels like falling through space with nothing familiar to land on.
Anxiety makes you overthink every detail. It makes you freak out over every minuscule thing. It makes you fret about the smallest of arguments or conflicts. It makes you feel like you aren’t good enough. It makes you feel like love isn’t even worth it, because it’s just too damn hard for someone like you.
I often think harboring the secret of my depression was the most difficult part of the entire ordeal. The amount of energy I spent trying to pretend everything was normal was what tired me the most.
When you asked me if I wanted to hang out, I told you I was busy with homework. I’m not. The truth is I can’t seem to get myself to do anything lately.
We find it difficult to comprehend the idea that anyone could ever love us. We know we are complicated and view ourselves as burdens and actually can’t imagine anyone ever loving us the way we are.