a-is-for-anxiety-blog

[a-is-for-anxiety-blog]

September 9th, 2017

12:03 am

So....I guess here I am, making a blog because I got inspired by a dumb facebook post. I’m not a fabulous writer and I cuss a lot. My sentences are choppy and probably won’t flow together very well, but I’m going to blog anyway cause I’ve got some shit to say. Let’s start with an unnecessarily long overview of my little life.

*IMPORTANT FUCKING INFORMATION* ((This kinda sorta maybe might be triggering so please be cautious))

I’m a 22 year old girl who is obsessed with cats and succulents. I’m bipolar, have high functioning anxiety and depression. Over the years I’ve fought and lost and fought and lost again to disorders I like to call dickheads. I started realizing I had hella issues when I got dumped at 15, during/after my parents were getting a divorce, and a week after having sex for the first time. ((Notice I didn’t say lost my virginity because I don’t like the stigma of virginity ‘loss’ but I digress, that’s for another day)) I can’t even tell you how it happened, at this point I don’t remember. But what I can tell you is that I was way way way WAY more than devastated. I was raised Catholic, so I thought that since I had now had sex with someone I definitely wasn’t going to marry, I was about as desirable as a flaming pile of Satan’s shit. I had no worth without my virginity. ((Eye roll to mars and back)) So starts the chapter of self hate and self harm in my life. We’ll call this Phase 1 - Self Harm

So throw in a few months of crying in the hallways..in class...in the choir room...in the bathroom...in the wherever. I honestly can’t tell you how long it took me to get over it. But it was a long, depressing, frustrating, stupid ass fucking road. I tried to find different escapes to make myself a little more sane. I started binge drinking and cutting. ((Newsflash; Not such a great combo. 0/10 would not recommend.)) At 16, I was slicing lines for every reason I was sad that day. Retracing them if I was sad about the same thing the day after, and the day after, and the day after. I was carving the words “Ugly” and “Fat” into my skin. I was so desperate to have a reason for my pain. So naturally, cutting was my answer. Drinking made it all go away. Lather, rinse, repeat. But I did find happiness in music and literature. That was my only positive outlet for about 3 years. Music and books became my obsession. I was transported to other worlds and became other people with other problems that weren’t my own, only to be dropped back on my fat ass when I finished a series. There were other boyfriends here and there. Some good. Some not so good. One pretty great one. But all in all I was literally fucking insane and drove them all away.

Let’s jump forward to my senior year. Phase 1.5 - Wow I’m a cunt

Let’s talk about how much of a big, rude ass, stuck up, half-witted, scruffy-looking, bitch I was. I talked shit about my friends for fun. I was a pathological liar. I was a self-hating, self-destructive, self-centered, B I T C H. Long story short I lost all like...7 of my closest friends to a bunch of ‘he said/ she said’ bullshit that I can’t even fucking remember ((Except for one. I’m trying to keep it pretty anonymous so I’ll call them my twin, my bro, my best friend, you know who you are. <3)) toward the end of the year and I fucking lost it. I don’t remember most of that summer.

Skip to my Freshman year of college. *sigh* Phase 2 - Rebellious Stupidity Sidenote: Eventually I got 2 out of the 7 friends back and we’re totes Bff’s again and they’re my heart and soul and I wouldn’t be half the person I am today without them. Ahem. Anyways. You know when you know you shouldn’t do something, but you kinda just have to anyway because it’s exciting to break the rules now and again? No? Anyone? Bueller? Anyways, I did the thing I wasn’t supposed to. I blindly convinced myself I was super in love when in reality I was in the most emotionally abusive relationship I’ve ever encountered. I know that now. But then, I seriously attached every ounce of my being into this piece of shit relationship. So when it ended..it was like I was 15 all over again. Except this time I REALLY fucking thought we would get married (( L O fucking L)). At this point I had been self harming through the whole relationship ((that alone should’ve been a red flag but I’m a fucking moron so)) so it just got worse and worse after the shit stain dumped my clinically insane depressed ass like a hot fucking potato....over the phone. 10 months of artificial happiness and love down the drain. Good fucking riddance. From then on, I was told that my sadness, my outbursts, my tantrums, my moods, and all my negative feelings were misplaced, out of touch, and completely unreasonable. I had a nice house, my own two rooms, a computer, a phone, and basically everything I ever asked for. I was still so fucking unhappy all the time. Nothing really kept me together long enough. And this time, I really fucking lost it. I dyed my hair twenty different colors. I was ugly crying every minute of every day. I attempted suicide. I started throwing up my meals. I wouldn’t eat. I’d eat too much. I never went outside. I never did anything. I was told my feelings weren’t valid and that I was being dramatic. Oh, and that “Crying does nothing but get your face wet.” which..is true. But a little word of advice to parents, don’t fucking tell your depressed ass, suicidal fucking daughter that her tears aren’t worth shit. It literally took me screaming at my dad saying “I want to fucking kill myself” for him to realize that I needed some fucking help. So I got it. Psychotherapy was my new outlet.

Tiny flash forward to the best month of my life. November of 2014. This we shall call Phase 3 - And he comes outta nowhere! But he only RKO’ed my heart. Enter Javi, the goofy ass fucking light of my life that I’m lucky enough to call my fiance. I don’t think he really knew what he was getting himself into, and he tried to get out about 6 months in, but clearly we didn’t let that happen. Now here we are almost 3 years in. If you know us, we fight....kinda a lot. We yell and argue about everything we see, hear, or touch. But we love each other way more than all of that shit. I can’t tell you how much Javi and I have been through. That would take a whole blog. But what I can tell you is that he’s been able to cope with my dickheads better than I have. So many nights of sobbing. So many anxiety attacks. So many broken promises. So many nights on the couch. So much anger. So much frustration. So much fucking everything. We’ve been through it all. He has absolutely saved my life in every way possible. Now, don’t get me wrong. It’s been hell. Worse than hell. I’ve been more anxious in the past year than the rest of my life. I’ve had more attacks and more break downs that I can count. But the difference now is that I have someone who loves me anyway. I have someone who is right next to me when I’m screaming and blacking out trying to punch myself in the face. I have someone come check on me when I’m quiet for too long. He knows my triggers and my relievers. He might cause an anxiety attack. He might save me from one. But he’s still there. Every single time. 

Now that I’ve given you an overview of my depressing ass past few years, let’s talk about where we go from here. I started typing this because I saw a post on facebook about anxiety, and I decided I had some shit to say on the subject. So from here on out I’ll be covering my own personal experiences with the dickheads that poison my life. This we’ll kinda use as our table of contents. A very short and broad table of contents with lots of little stories and lessons to be learned here and there. I’m not sure how often I’ll blog. But I hope you’ll be here to read them all.

In the meantime, be kind to yourself. You’re loved and you’re worth it.

Until next time, Sarahhmoonshoes