For me, dating is an entire world of anxiety. What do I wear? What if he takes me home? What if he kills me? What if I have nothing to say? Do I write notes in my phone for discussion topics? What if I choke and I die while he’s talking about his cute dogs to me?
No one would ever guess you have social anxiety. People with social anxiety never utter a peep, right? So, your 15-minute story definitely eliminates any possibility for you to be anxious. HAH, you wish! Little do those around you know, the constant chatter and jokes coming from you is far from an indication of confidence. More like the result of not being able to contain the disorganized mess that is your racing thoughts.
My therapist thinks I’m too hard on myself. The stigma that is drilled into my brain to make me believe that I’m weak for getting help.
I was first prescribed psych meds about six years ago, but it’s only been in the last two months that I’ve taken them as prescribed. If you were to ask me, “What happened?” I’d say, “A few things got in the way: namely anger, fear and shame.”
It seems so harmless, so innocent, doesn’t it? It’s grocery shopping, a chore, a suburban drudgery. But for me it’s become both a source of too much joy and the bane of my existence. Alcoholics can swear off alcohol. They can stop going to places that serve it. But how can I stop grocery shopping?
The film’s ending – scored in bright, here-we-have-the-resolution notes – suggests that Ingrid’s suicide documentation saved the day as well as her life.
If you love them enough to want to sleep next to them every night, you love them enough to get through this. Tell them that. They’ll be grateful.
Recovery means letting go, stepping out of your comfort zone and facing the unknown. So I say, as you start feeling better, you need more support, not less.
On the outside, indeed, I look very happy.