The funny thing about anxiety.

anxiety doesn’t care if you’ve been having a good day or bad day. It doesnt care if you think logically or emotionally. Rationally or irrationally. Alone or with loved ones. Wide awake or dead tired. It doesnt care if you’re having fun or oon a bad mood. Rain or shine. Day or night.

Anxiety doesn’t give a flying fuckin space.

Why? Because that’s not its job. It’s job is to seek out triggers that aren’t there. Movements, shadows, sounds, smells, tastes, memories, thoughts. These are all its prey.

And what happens when it smells fear? It attacks. The only problem id’s that it’s 10 o’clock at night, both kids are asleep, you’re trying to calm yourself down so your anti anxiety pills (or Chris Pratt) can kick in and save the day.

(That booty can save me any day)

Except it won’t.

You’ll fall, hard, tearing your hair out, trying to get the screaming thoughts out but you can’t. They won’t stop no matter how much you breathe and stifle screams and cries.

But I’m lucky.

Ben heard me from the other room, came in and pulled me to my side on the floor and pressed his arms and chest on top of me. My breathing safety blanket helped me realize where i was and that i was safe. I was not being hurt or under attack. I love him so much for knowing enough about anxiety that he could be my safety.

Ps. What set me off? Thinking about my grandmother telling my mother that i told her i have PTSD as diagnosed by my psychologist. Family politics are bullshit and i won’t have it anymore.

Pps. I’m going to be saving up money to get a service dog for when i have my own apartment. Please help out by making purchases in my etsy shop.

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