I have a perfect life. I have a family that loves me. I grew up in a big house in one of the worlds richest countries. I was popular growing up, and had many friends. And then I hit puberty and I started getting sick. And kept getting sicker and sicker. I got it under control with therapy and went on getting a great job and moved out at 17. I proceeded to make a solid career, earning a lot of money and doing good. And then the depression came back, I had to stop working and moved back home. I started getting panic attacks all the time and started on medication and going to therapy. I wasnt living anymore, I was just surviving. Life was just something I had to get through. I had to move back home, but managed to keep my job. My days was just work-eat-sleep on repeat. I lost all my friends and relied on my family 24/7. I went to the ER thinking my vains were going to explode time after time. I stopped wearing a safety belt in the car and always begged for it to crash.

 

I hate what my illness makes me. I can’t stand the feeling of winning life’s lottery and not being able to enjoy a minute of it. Everyone I ever let in ends up walking away when the bad times come, and I understand that. They won the lottery too, and they don’t wanna spend their time with someone who doesn’t know how to appreciate what she’s got. But I can only control it so much for so long. I know it’s always gonna come back. And when it does, it’s gonna feel as bad as all the other times.

1 Comment
  1. nocluenblonde 2 years ago

    Anxiety is an ugly monster. I understand. I have never “ lived life” I at least use to smile and meet peoples eyes. I can’t remember when the last time was, that I smile or looked in someone’s eyes feeling shame and apologetic for simply being me. I just know those small moments we get, where the truest form of who we are peeps out, are the ones we need to hold on to. Those are small bursts of hope.

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