All these thoughts. All the worry. All the pain. All the guilt. I want to stand on my head and pour them out… I want to let everything go.
What good is worrying anyway? It accomplishes nothing. So why am I wrought with it? Why does my mind spend hours replaying conversations, days obsessing over interactions and outcomes that I have no control over?
Oh, right. Because I have anxiety. So I know that the irrational parts of me have a cause. Seems like knowing that would make it easier to turn them off… But that’s not how it works. Knowing that it’s because my brain is sick doesn’t make it easier to deal with, and it makes it even harder to understand.
I’ve been isolating. Only talking to those who text me first and only in regard to whatever they’ve text about… avoiding phone calls… ignoring social media notifications. I know I’m not supposed to isolate – it triggers the depression – but I have nothing to say. All I can think about are the worries. The fears. The what-ifs, and the I-should’ves. I spend a lot of time in tears, unable to articulate exactly why except that I’m overwhelmed. The only person I talk to is my husband, and that’s only because he’s unavoidable but talking to him always starts a fight. He thinks I’m being difficult. I’m sure that it is difficult for him… but I wish he could see how hard it is for me. In here. Stuck in this dark place, all alone. Trapped under the weight of all of my worries, feeling as though suffocating would be a reprieve.
“I want to empty my head. I want to stand on my head and pour everything out… I want to let it all go.” I just keep repeating it, hoping that something in the universe hears my plea and has mercy on me. I don’t know what else to do.