Two days ago, I cried so much it was like my face was going to explode.
I get burst blood vessels in my cheeks when I cry hard, and I can’t help it.
I get so sad sometimes that I can’t see the wood for the trees.
I spoke to a couple of friends and they both told me to get help. I told one of them how I want to… well, die.
The problem with help is; in my opinion, it’s not forthcoming. There is no help because no seperate being can help.
For instance, you were born into this world alone and you will die alone. Some say we were born with two angels, one good and one bad. One who sits on the right shoulder, and one on the left. But who is it who has to go through the stages of grief every single day? It is I. Not the angels.
I grieve for my life, for my past, my present and my future.
Yes, I suffer greatly in that my anxiety is so debilitating, that there are certain things I cannot do; that seem doable to those without anxiety.
Today, I felt a wave of the clouds of fear and doubt as I watched the television to take my mind off of things. How can such a simple act evoke such strong feeling? Because, my anxiety is me, and I am my anxiety.
I grieve till the tiny blood vessels in my face burst. Till my eyes hurt.
Yes, I grieve for my life. Because it was something I lost the moment my anxiety became a part of me.