I want to write in poetry, it's the way I feel the most understood. The language of my soul in words and keystrokes. The words come to me and I feel relieved when I see them outside of my mind.
Right now, the words are not coming to me. I feel less like I'm stranded at sea and more like I'm buried up to my neck at the shore and waiting for the tide to give me my next breath. All my thoughts are focused on counting the seconds until I can breathe again.
This is how I lived for most of my life, before the medication. I haven't had an anxiety attack in months. The medicine works, until it doesn't and adjustments need to happen and the chemicals in my brain fire off panic and worthlessness and hopelessness and it's so fucking exhausting to try to be louder than my brain. To reassure myself, it's not me, it's the chemicals and it will even out again. Don't lose hope. You are worth taking care of.
It's 2pm and I haven't eaten at all today. I'm not hungry and to be honest the thought of eating sounds exhausting. I went to therapy, I went shopping and got some groceries. I did the functioning human adult things I had to do but here? Home by myself? I can't get out of this chair. I can't eat. I don't even want to cry.
