Tomorrow I finally go to the doctor about my anxiety issues. This post doesn't need to turn into a discussion about whether or not anxiety is real OR a discussion on why medication isn't the answer. I'm going. I'm trying medication. Period. I did the research and I'd rather deal with dry mouth and headaches than crippling anxiety.
I've been feeling overwhelmed lately.
I want my business to grow but I'm having trouble making time to work that isn't 10pm.
I want to finish my novel but I have the WORST case of writer's block. I stare at a blank screen far too often and that isn't writing the 50,000 words I need. The story is bare bones, novella length right now. I don't want to think that this is the end.
One "fear" I have with overcoming my anxiety is that it will kill my muse forever and I'll never be creative again. Stefan is okay with that (he'd rather I be unpublished and sane) but it's a rough thought.
I'm still trying to find myself. You'd think at almost 26 I'd be somewhat sure of myself, what I like, who I am, etc...but I'm not. I know that people evolve and change, but it's weird and sort of scary.
I need to be more organized. I need my FAMILY to be more organized. I'm sure I wrecked someone's entire day on Sunday when she was just trying to help me all because I didn't double check something. I'm STILL kicking myself because it was a simple, stupid mistake. The experience was a huge splash of cold water and is the reason I won't be fostering any more dogs until I get my own stuff in order.
Sometimes I'm afraid my children will end up just as crazy as I am.
I'm afraid to make friends. I make acquaintances and I'm surprisingly okay with that. True friends means letting your guard down and letting people into those scary places inside yourself. I can't do that. I believe that my husband is the only person that knows me 100%. I have different sets of "friends" that know different things about me, but no one knows everything. That is the way I like it.
Depressing. Anxiety Inducing. Crazy Ramblings over.