Just when I think I’m better, I feel it. Just when I feel there’s enough distance between us, I see it’s shadow. Just when I’m enjoying the silence, I can hear it’s low buzz.
It starts again in my stomach like it always does. My breathing starts to become shallower. My fingers start to twitch and I get the ache in my shoulders. I can feel it rising.
Anxiety can be a bitch. Just when I feel I’ve got on top of it, it’ll give me a brief respite then start up again. But just a little bit, enough to start my internal alarm bells ringing.
Ffs, I’m starting to annoy myself now so God knows how people around me feel.
I keep writing here. I keep trying to put my thoughts into some kind of cohesive structure that makes sense to me. The words do, but making sense of the whole thing?
That would be a resounding no then.
Sometimes I wonder what it must feel like for people I know (and those who don’t) to read this. I don’t know if I could get an understanding of what goes on in my head, trying to pull words out of the mess my brain is in.
I end up with almost a degree of self loathing. I understand I have an internal need to articulate things but I also hate that I’m having to do it. Part of me feels like I’m weak, almost like I’m doing this for attention. I never want anyone to think that about me. But is that just part of what I’m going through, looking to deeply into everything until I find something that will trigger me?
So, there’s the question. Am I triggering myself?
I don’t think so. I know I have a tendency to over analyse things, but that’s just me. I’ll always pick at something until I can find a fault with it. Nothing’s perfect.
I often find myself censoring what I say at times. If you think there are times when I ‘over share’my experiences, there are a lot more that never see the light of day, believe me. There are so many that get deleted before they get chance to being published whilst more sit languishing in their own form of purgatory on the WordPress app on my phone.
If I don’t hit publish they don’t exist, right?
I’m sitting here now wondering if there’s any point to this rambling blog post. There is, even if it’s just a way to confront myself with some of these feelings, to remind myself they still exist, that they’re not fully resolved. It pays to remind myself my anxiety is still there, even at the smallest degree, it’s still pulling at the fringes of my life, colouring everything I see, feel and do.
It will never be gone. And now it’s time to try and accept that.