poked by a pin

i can not express how difficult breathing is sometimes. you think it would be simple, this thing that we have done since the moment that we were born and done so easily the whole time as well. But somewhere along the way, this innate action became quite impossible for me. i read on Tumblr (no shame) last week a very interesting thought and one that I have dwelled on ever since it entered my life:

What if people who have anxiety are just unaccustomed to the way the world works because this is the first incarnation of their soul on the earth? And confident people are at ease with the world because they have already been incarnated multiple times and, in a sense, already know how the world works.

What if it’s the other way around?

I don’t know which disturbs me more.

This thought can’t leave my mind. Maybe it’s because somehow, it justifies this stupid, horrible, wonderful feeling that has defined so much of who I am. Anxiety can become you so easily. I do not think that people who do not deal with it in the overwhelming way that those who suffer from AD do understand that each and every day it is a fight against this thing that pulses through our veins. and reading this thought made me realize somehow, made me want to believe i guess, that somehow there is a reason my soul feels this way, that there is a reason that one comment, one small act, can deflate my good mood faster than a ballon after its poked by a pin simply because my mind won’t stop. i struggle in many moments to simple breathe because i just want to cry. and i know crying isn’t a bad thing. i had to learn that lesson. Panama taught me how to cry, but I don’t always feel safe enough to do so. so many questions run through my mind and i don’t feel as if I have someone to lean on, who is near enough for me to physically lean on, which is sometimes all i need for the pain shooting down my left arm to stop.

i will be positive now, i suppose. today, despite the continuation of my every day fight, today the world showed me once again that even though breathing becomes impossible sometimes, struggling is okay. first came the rain. i turned my face up towards it as we walked out of Walmart. there was Emily’s phone call as well, her voice on the other side of the phone making my heart sigh away from the struggle it had been fighting.

the words. i need the words. writing them even if they don’t make any sense to anyone else makes me feel better. why do you do what you do? i ask you. you shouldn’t do it if you label yourself with that label, you know. it’s not fair. it’s not fair. but what is? you must stumble first, i tell myself. but maybe just because i have to.


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