I never thought of anxiety as my mental health issue. It was always depression or bipolar, because largely I’d be lethargic and prone to sadness/pessimism with the occasional bolts of confidence and adventure.

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This year has been the worst of my life. I suspect a lot of his has to do with the medication I’m taking.

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I wake up most days with a pounding heart. My stomach is often so knotted up I gag over and over. It is hard to get out of bed. It is hard to engage in sustained work. Mostly I want to sleep to be away from the pain.

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Sometimes, a lot in the recent past, I have drank alcohol to help. It warms up my chest and makes me feel good, for a short while. Eventually I binge drink and make bad decision and subject myself to very painful hangovers. So I’m stopping that completely.

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I think isolation and underemployment are contributors also. And a landlord who is making life a living hell. 

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I recently reached out to my mom and asked if I could sell most of my stuff and move across the country to be back with her while I figured this out. It brought many tears to imagine the comfort and friendship of being home again. She is considering it but I know she would prefer it I can do this alone.

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Waking up with all this pain in my chest and stomach today made me question if being home is even a good decision. I can’t imagine my mom (who is sweetly loving but still not some 2 dimensional joy bringer) actually helping me overcome my whole body and mind feeling this anxious.

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I guess I really wanted to be taken care of, because it’s gotten so hard for me to stay on top of cleaning cooking grooming and work. 

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Writing this stuff out has been  helpful. I feel a bit of relaxation in my chest.