it's a convoluted mess
Writing is hard. I’m still in a bit of recovery mode after my mental meltdown over one single writing project. And while we’ve had a few moments of mild reprieve from gross summer weather, I’m still feeling the effects of SAD. Though I do have a little bit more of a handle on the anxiety that has been all-consuming now that I know where it’s been coming from. Getting back to writing after an inadvertent… Keep reading…Over and under…
If we’re being perfectly honest, I’ve been a colossal train wreck lately. No, no—more than usual. I’ve been struggling with some bad anxiety, which drives the depression to serious lows, which fuels the anxiety, which drives the depression, which…you get it. There are things that are easy to identify in terms of what’s causing the issues, but they are not the only things. And while Generalized Anxiety Disorder is a pretty safe assumption when I… Keep reading…The usual session…
…to words of wisdom I could never get myself to understand… I am in an extremely fortunate and privileged position in that I don’t have to work. (Not that my mental state is really in any condition to, but that’s a whole other discussion.) Bob has a good job that provides us with a comfortable income. We can pay our bills, save money, and budget for the things we want. He is okay with me… Keep reading…The heart don’t listen…
Contrary to the inanity that I write here…I don’t suck at writing. That is not an easy thing for me to admit out loud. (Or in print on the internet, as the case may be.) I am the queen of self-deprecation, and depression and anxiety like to try to convince me I suck at merely existing most days. I have a difficult time saying I’m a good writer without feeling like a complete fraud. Every… Keep reading…But that one night…
I feel like I’m running out of time on an important deadline. I haven’t done any prep work. I am completely unprepared to even start, much less finish on time. It sounds like some sort of stress dream. Only it’s not a dream. It’s just one of the many obnoxious ways my brain manifests unexplained anxiety. I’m not actually running on any deadlines—that I know of. It’s entirely possible there’s something I need to do,… Keep reading…Never quite ready at all…
I’m genuinely curious how old people think I am when they see me. For the most part, I get the impression people think I’m much younger than I am. It could have a lot to do with my height (4′ 11.5″). I don’t even register on most “adult” height charts. They all start at five-feet. Every time I get measured at the doctor, the nurse always double and often triple checks because I can’t possibly… Keep reading…It’s hard to see it now…