Earlier today, I thought of searching spotify for songs that will help calm my devils. I found a few songs, but refused to make a playlist of it. I didn’t want to commit to this feeling, I told myself. This is just a phase.
The past few days, I have found myself easing in to the open; which I honestly think is healthy for me. I think, on some level, I have hesitated to acknowledge the anxiety I’ve been feeling. I didn’t believe in anxiety as much as I didn’t believe in depression. Like depression, my reservations about anxiety changed when I found myself smack in the middle of it.
How does it feel to suffer from anxiety?
To me, it begins with feeling lost in my own routine, which sucks major. Routines are supposed to be familiar, to feel safe because routines are places and times you have memorized. It grants the knowing anxiety isn’t supposed to grow in.
Then it continues with me wanting to shed my skin off for answers–sometimes for temporary pleasures–so I get the little push I need go finish a day. Often, the questions aren’t meant to be answered, which incidentally heightens the anxiety I feel simply because I’m the type of girl who doesn’t let go of questions. I am on a need to know the answer default.
It often concludes with me feeling restless, sometimes pacing. It strikes when my hands aren’t busy. Also, it happens when my mind isn’t preoccupied. So what I do is, I keep on doing doing doing until I grow so tired. My nights, they are heavy. I can’t even cry.
(I fell asleep while drafting this blog.)
It’s now 4:56 AM. I’m worrying about things again. For Sunday’s best, I have a very early Monday to think of. I also had a dream about her. She was apologizing to me. I still cared. (I still do IRL.)
Anxiety. It knows no time.