Does this ever get easier? I swear this was supposed to get easier.

blake kathryn
🪼
Peter Solarz

oozey mess

tannertan36
almost home
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her

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Acquired Stardust
hello vonnie

JBB: An Artblog!

ellievsbear
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
h

Discoholic 🪩

Andulka
taylor price
todays bird

pixel skylines

PR's Tumblrdome

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@caterpillaar
Does this ever get easier? I swear this was supposed to get easier.
Yoongi's best airport looks
Is anyone else suicidal or is it just me
taylor what is this
Stars do u like dem
^^my hero
I'm so freaking excited for new Taylor Swift, but probably not as excited as my boyfriend, who has had to listen to every single crazy theory on the internet and in my brain nonstop these past few weeks, and then again today as they came to fruition. Like, thank you; no, I am not insane. This is a MOVEMENT.
@taylorswift @taylornation
1. Harry Styles
2. Klay Thompson
3. Barack Obama
Some things are just a punch in the gut.
Sunday, October 14th, 2018.
My mother has cancer.
Friendly reminder that it’s okay if you’re 21 and you still can’t turn yourself into an entire murder of crows! any species of corvid is fine
Needed this
not killing myself is a personal achievement but you cant really brag about that at dinner parties
A confession, a prayer, a benediction.
Tonight, my Uncle Mike called me Krissy, and that was all that mattered.
There is a voice inside of you,
That whispers all day long..
But what do you do when you cannot trust your Voice?
For years now, I have been plagued with anxiety-related-memory-malfunctions. I’ll do the thing, and then, very slowly, I’ll start wondering if I actually did the thing. Then, more rapidly: Did I do the thing correctly? Is that how other people do the thing? Did I make an embarrassing mistake? Did I even do it at all?
By the time this all fizzes up and out, I genuinely cannot remember what actually happened. It’s like having somebody pop off the top of your skull and vacuum up its contents.
A perfect example of this in action would be the hundreds of thousands of papers that I handed in throughout the course of my college education. I will preface this by saying that I am an English major, which only makes this more comical. Despite reading, and editing, my own work countless times, memory-malfunction would set in as soon as the piece was transferred from my possession, to that of my professors’. Did I proofread? Did I keep the same tense? Did I use contractions? Did I cite correctly? Did I even meet the task?
Anxiety is frightening, because I have been trained, through experience, not to trust my own memories once the wave crashes.
And crash it does.
You see, sunshine is not part of my daily routine.
Most days, I stay in bed because I am afraid of my own shadow. The something dark that follows me, always one step behind.
It usually starts with a trigger, seemingly innocent.
Then comes the hammering in my chest, the queasiness in my stomach, and the rushing of my breath. There’s a definite feeling of loss. Loss of control? Loss of my sanity? I may end up in tears.
But it’s not always wet.
Sometimes it’s angry.
Sometimes it’s obsessive.
And sometimes it’s a silent disintegration.
Answering the phone.
Placing an order at a restaurant.
Last-minute plans.
Changes to said plans.
Unread emails.
Disorganization.
Clutter.
Socialization.
Decision making.
The thing is, I am both an extremely irrational, and an extremely logical being, all wrapped up in one.
I am well aware that my reactions are disproportionate to the situation at hand. But that does not mean that I can simply not react.
These feelings are not mine to control, and that is The Hardest Part.
The Hardest Part is trying desperately to explain to someone you love that the way you are acting is a reflex, not a conscious choice.
I never intend to be mean.
I never intend to snap.Â
I never intend to crawl inside myself without warning, or explanation.
But I do believe in management.
And I do believe in getting better.
Living with an anxiety disorder is my biggest daily challenge.
I’ve always felt somewhat reluctant to put that out there, as if giving an explanation for my ridiculous behavior would somehow make things worse.
But the truth is, I am not a “drama queen”, and this is not a phase.
These feelings have hindered my progress as an Adult Human Being this past year, in ways that I could have never imagined.
I am lagging. (And vomit-scented).
I am lonely. (And trying to put the puzzle together again).
This is The First Step.
I hate how blindsided I allowed myself to be. I hate how blurred lines always seemed absolute to you.
You ever get to a point where you just sit there smiling while you cry because you honestly no longer care whether you live or die?
Still supportive af.
It's a weird thing when you know that victim blaming is wrong and you would never question another woman about it, but you can't help but make excuses in your own situation. Like well maybe I shouldn't have done this or gone there or worn that or drank that. It's not all those other girls' faults, but it's mine.