The anxiety pit
/The anxiety pit might be one of the hardest things a person can dig themselves out of.
Because you are fighting something that is so real and devastating in your mind that no one else experiences.
It is a war that can not be won or lost but simply battles you take on everyday.
It is the fog that hides the realness of the future but only you can see the fog.
It is the weight of the world that crushes your chest, but in reality, the world is weightless floating effortlessly through space.
It is a lack of oxygen when everyone else seems to breath so easily.
It is every noise that no one else even notices.
It is the invisible fight that seems to never end.
It is faceless and nameless, meaning you can’t hardly put words to it.
The scariest part is that it is part of you. Without you, your anxiety would not exist. This also means, no one but you can do anything about it. No one can save you from it. No one can take it for you. It is just yours to face, yet again.
~ l. l. blankenship
About:
I recently started working with someone to get a handle on my anxiety. Honestly, it is something I have dealt with my entire life but never actually called it anxiety or even understood it to be anxiety. The amount of honesty needed to tackle your inner demons is almost more terrifying than the demons themselves. After all, I know those demons, I’ve lived my whole life with them. But I guess I came to a point where life handed me one too many wild cards and I found myself crippled with fear.
I knew not a single soul could save me from the inner noise, no one else could even hear it. It is terrifying to meet with someone and say I’m terrified of things my mind makes up, things that may never happen, life feels unbearable for no reason at all. But it was even more terrifying living with those constant fears. No one was coming to save me from myself, they didn’t even know I needed saving.
Fine. It’s fine. I’m fine. Everything was fine. Everything was fine after I had a major snow skiing accident and lost my short term memory. Picture walking into a room and not knowing why, for months solid! Everything was fine after my father finally took his own life and I felt responsible to clean up the mess. Everything was fine when I had Lyme disease and severe mold poisoning, wearing heart monitors and living with an IV line in my arm for over a year. Everything was fine when my husbands PTSD from the military spiraled out of control.
Fine is a word I hope to remove from my vocabulary. I never want to be fine again. I want to be me. I was fine for so long, that I could no longer breath easy. Having the courage to redefine myself after being fine for well over a decade has required every ounce of my energy. But soon I will be more than fine. I have the courage to smile and laugh again, I know it will happen.
