I’ve been silent these past months, not by choice but because grief, depression, and crippling anxiety attacks have rendered me immobile. I have felt stationary – unable to muster basic interest in most things besides sleeping, reading, and endlessly scrolling through social media feeds. I’ve still pushed myself everyday; I’ve still gotten out of bed and gone to work, but that in and of itself has caused anxiety as I question my ability to do my job, my career choices, and my prospects for the future.
anxiety
A half-life
I think that if I was granted a wish, it would be that, for just one day, I could feel normal. To wake up gradually, easing myself into consciousness. Once I was wide awake, I’d be able to roll out of bed, maybe have a cup of tea, and relax. I’d think about what faced me in the day ahead, but that’s all they would be – simple thoughts. They wouldn’t bombard me from the second I wake up. My chest wouldn’t burn. My heart wouldn’t pound. I wouldn’t gasp for air, the bile at the back of my throat scalding me. My mind wouldn’t race with uncontrolled worries about what I was facing that day with work, with my family, or any other minor aspect of my life.
I have a mental illness. It’s not something I talk about very often, but it’s with me every second of the day. Continue reading
Life on Wild Hare Farm 