Having anxiety and depression is
like being scared and tired at the same time.
It’s the fear of failure, but no urge to be productive.
It’s wanting friends, but not wanting to socialize.
It’s wanting to be alone, but not wanting to be lonely.
It’s caring about everything, then caring about nothing.
It’s feeling everything at once…
then feeling paralyzingly numb.
The best way to start this post out is by being blunt. So here it goes…
ANXIETY IS A B****!
Ya’ll, I have been struggling hard core with my anxiety the past month or so. There are days where it is literally kicking me in the butt, and I feel like I’m suffocating. Then there are days where it’s a bit more manageable, and I get this false hope that I’ve got it under control and everything will be alright. It’s interfering with my life. My home life. My life as a mother and wife. My work life. I live so much in my own head that I can’t seem to allow myself to escape and feel better. Why though? Shouldn’t I want to feel better? Shouldn’t I want to get out of my own head? Well yeah! Of course I do. But it’s not that simple unfortunately.
“It’s caring about everything, then caring about nothing.”
Does that line look familiar? If it does, that means you’ve read every part of this post so far, because it comes from the quote at the beginning. Have you ever felt like this? You care about everything. From all aspects of your life, to the life of the mailman; the weather to whether or not you have a good hair day. But then it hits you. And you care about nothing at all. You don’t know why, but your ability to care ceases to exist.
Anxiety is all consuming. At least mine is. Especially lately. I’m taking my anxiety medication like its candy (but still taking it no more then I’m prescribed). My body shakes. I’m exhausted mentally and physically. I worry about everything. But then I worry about nothing at all. Panicking gets so bad that I feel like I’m going to puke. I start to think that I’m broken. I have to be broken. There is no other reason that I would feel like I do. Right? But maybe I’m not broken. Maybe my emotions are. Maybe they are so mangled that they don’t know how to present themselves, so I appear broken.
Anxiety for me is scary. I lose control of how I feel because I’m so overwhelmed by all of my emotions. I can’t keep them all straight. Writing helps me. I can process everything by writing. I can usually distinguish how my anxiety attack started. But not always. Sometimes writing can make things worse for me because I’m not able to figure out how it started or to fully process anything that is going on in my head. Which is both stressful and terrifying. So when I tell you anxiety is a b**** I really do mean it. Because no one enjoys feeling like this and living their life this way.
Beautifully Chaotic 