Don’t ask me why I’m anxious.

I’ve got a million reasons, and zero. I know the question is well-meaning, but for someone with anxiety problems that are awaiting intervention (appointment scheduled Friday), asking why I’m anxious invites me to catalogue everything that could possibly go wrong. It encourages my brain to make a normal day a terrifying one in which I’m anxious that people will stop loving me, that I’ll get hurt, that someone I love will get hurt, that everything will be my fault.

Asking me why I’m anxious has another insidious effect: I feel the need to justify these feelings. I have to counter “what do you have to be stressed about?” (a fairly common question in various forms) with enough to validate my feelings to others. So then it becomes can I explain how bad this is, or am I actually faking it, because my list isn’t long enough. After all, look at all the *real* terrible things that are going on in the world, and *I* can’t leave the house? And then I’m terrible for making mountains out of mole hills, and seeking attention.

It’s a pretty messed up cycle, and it sucks that when people are well-meaning can be when the questions hurt the worst. Telling me how well some things are going sometimes serves to remind me of all the things that are going to stop going well and start imploding.

Saturday was the worst of it, thus far. It took me hours to get out of the house to go for a run. I just kept crying. Finally I went, and I cried some on the road, but I felt better. For about an hour. Then the tears came back. Despite the date I had planned, I couldn’t leave the house again. Instead, we feasted on wings and pizza and garlic cheesy bread and beer over TV and movies. I still feel badly for ruining the weekend. For talking a big game and falling through.

I can take everything personally. I can see in any comment or inaction or action a personal slight, because this is a sign that people are over me. And why wouldn’t they be, when I’m like this all the time now?

Stress dreams, eye twitches, shaking. I fell asleep during my second viewing of GOTG last night and woke up to an anxiety attack, so I left. What was there to be anxious about?

This is what’s going on with me right now (and also my second attempt at writing this, thxtumblr) and the post is designed to be transparent and not attention seeking. But if you want to go on this journey with me, please don’t ask what I’m anxious about.

Ask me if it’s a good day or a bad one. Ask me where I’m at on a 1 to 10 scale of various feels. Hang out with me, check in with me, keep loving me while I struggle with this. It’s gonna be a while, I think, but it’ll be worth it. I just gotta get through it.

I want to go to the gym or for a run, but the anxiety is so bad that I’m just sitting here in my workout clothes crying. How do you leave the house when everything hurts this bad?

Monday, no

(Source: serial-cereal-eater, via committingtome)

Goals for the week:
10 miles on my feet
A commute on my bike
Exercise the demons (that’s not a typo)
Believe in love, and myself
Nurture my enough
Drink water and tea and good coffee and, if you must, only good beer.
Post on Tumblr more. 

Missing y’all.

(Photo from the start of my 5k yesterday. I’m on the left for those of you who are like damn Tonya you been gone so long we don’t even know you anymore)

Goals for the week:
10 miles on my feet
A commute on my bike
Exercise the demons (that’s not a typo)
Believe in love, and myself
Nurture my enough
Drink water and tea and good coffee and, if you must, only good beer.
Post on Tumblr more.

Missing y’all.

(Photo from the start of my 5k yesterday. I’m on the left for those of you who are like damn Tonya you been gone so long we don’t even know you anymore)
Pacific Ocean forever and always. (at Ocean Beach, San Francisco)

Pacific Ocean forever and always. (at Ocean Beach, San Francisco)

I’m not trying to tempt the universe. I’m just grateful for the reminder that things could always be worse. That wasn’t my bus.

I’m not trying to tempt the universe. I’m just grateful for the reminder that things could always be worse. That wasn’t my bus.

The Cliff House. Thanks to the magic of Instagram, I made it look bright & sunny.  (at Ocean Beach, San Francisco)

The Cliff House. Thanks to the magic of Instagram, I made it look bright & sunny. (at Ocean Beach, San Francisco)

I procrastinated taking a shower by going for a run and then to breakfast. This is especially odd considering I woke up a little hungover after much debauchery last night.

I still haven’t showered. I’m enjoying the funk. You might think it’s gross but I haven’t been earning my sweat lately, so this feels satisfying and awesome. 

My slow 3 miles didn’t particularly merit hash browns and breakfast burrito for refueling purposes, but I am trying to quit thinking about calories and my belly in negative ways and just do what makes me feel good.

36 Days til my next half marathon. Yikes.

boyswanna-be-her:

Game of Thrones Theme (1986 Remix)

This speaks to me on a spiritual level

I need this on my running playlist(s).

(Source: thedonnieblog, via serial-cereal-eater)

Movies in the park. The cops don’t even care we drankin. (at Dolores Park)

Movies in the park. The cops don’t even care we drankin. (at Dolores Park)