#livingwithanxiety

[yeahimwiththeband]

with the band chapter 17

i know if i go

warning: italy, standing up for yourself, new year’s eve makeout hookup?

A/N: after izzy runs into harry in sicily, she invites him back to her hostel for a nye party. he makes her an offer she doesn’t expect. previous chapter here

word count: 2.8k

The hostel reminded her of the co-op in Austin: set in a lush garden, it was full of people her age and smelled like lemon zest. Its floor was terracotta and the walls were cracked tile, with leaning, thrifted bookcases lining the courtyard under a walkway. Olivia, Meg, and Izzy just had enough time to shower and throw on the one going out fit scrunched at the bottom of their bags. Izzy brought out her green dress; Meg wore flip flops with shorts and a metallic crop top, and Olivia floated around in a gauzy tulle thing over a t-shirt and shorts.  Izzy couldn’t get the dust of her sneakers—she made them walk back, declining a ride with Harry’s driver, and they had collapsed in a corner of the courtyard, watching the other backpackers mill around. She wondered if Jess was here, in Italy; she tried to push the thought out of her mind. On Insta, Harry and Jess were still very much together—so many strategic little public comments. Some sounded like Ryan, some sounded like authentic Jess and Harry. Izzy shook it off—it was out of her control, and she had made a new life for herself. She was so happy she left LA. 

The hostel’s bar was pouring shots for 3 euro each. It was already around 10 PM; the sky was clear and bright with stars, and the walls of the courtyard were cool against their backs. Through the gateway at the end of the courtyard, Izzy could see through to the patchy garden, with a thick clover lawn dotted with huge peony bushes and mimosa trees, dangling clusters of gold. She felt relaxed. She was wearing what she wanted to wear, with people she could be honest with. She wasn’t trying to fit in at a party where she didn’t belong anymore. Here, she could just be herself. Her heart trembled at the sound of a vespa outside, but it whipped past without stopping. Harry wasn’t here yet. 

Izzy remembered the last special occasion party she went to: that pretentious thing at The Frick with George and all his boujee private school friends, who were trying to warn her about him. Izzy exhaled. She felt so happy, in that moment, that she had left the tour and there was now an entire ocean between her and George.

“Limoncello,” Meg said, placing tiny glasses the size of a thimble in Izzy and Olivia’s hands. The golden mimosa buds were spilling in from the yard on the wind, racing across the floor and blowing into their hair.

“We have a long way to go if this is what we’re drinking all night,” Olivia said.

“We’re celebrating! To Italy and this trip,” Meg said. They all clinked glasses, took a sip, and Izzy instantly smiled: it tasted like Italy felt, like summer, bright and sweet and a little biting, so far. Meg wrinkled her nose: “It’s like drinking sugar.” She returned to the bar, while Olivia leaned back and closed her eyes, listening to the guitarist strumming from the corner, a Swede 18 or 19 who had picked up one of the hostel’s guitars. Izzy tried to focus on him, listening intently. She had to stop checking the doorway for Harry. She had to stop imagining kissing him at midnight. The countdown, the lean in, firecracker sparks and yellow flowers flying around them...

“Now, grappa!” Meg was back already, with three shot glasses. Izzy’s carefully lowered her little goblet of limoncello to her feet.

“What’s grappa?” Olivia asked, peering at the almost-black liquid. A few of the backpackers had started to dance by the bar.

“It’s like wine, but more. You know?” Izzy could hear that Meg was drunk. She also sounded happy. Looking at her friend’s flushed and smiling face, Izzy could only feel relief - she had been such a bad friend on the tour, and felt like she was finally paying Meg back. Izzy flashed on the night Meg packed her bags, the way she sounded when Izzy said she wasn’t going home.

“So…” Olivia started, exchanging a glance with Meg. “I guess Harry should get here pretty soon, right?

“Alla nostra!” Izzy said, grabbing her glass. She threw it all back and then instantly spat it out, narrowly missing.

“Mama mia,” Olivia said. Her eyes were scrunched closed and she pinched her nose. She had only taken a small sip, but it made her sinuses burn.

“Oh my god,” Meg said.

“I’m dying,” Izzy said. Italian swear words she had heard her mom mutter throughout her childhood tumbled out of her mouth: it was like drinking paint.

“You’re not supposed to shot it like that,” said someone pretentious. Izzy felt someone take the glass out of her hand and press a napkin in in its place.

Izzy unscrunched her eyes to see Harry, t shirt on, leather jacket slung over his shoulder, smiling and trying not to.

“Please don’t laugh at me,” Izzy said.

“Never,” Harry replied.

Izzy picked up her Limoncello. Olivia and Meg had disappeared. She and Harry were alone in a corner

“Thanks for coming,” Izzy said. “Are you sure you wouldn’t—that other party,  you won’t be sad to—“

“I’m sure,” Harry said. He checked over his shoulder, a reflex. Izzy looked too—no one here seemed to recognize him. They were safe.

“Doesn’t this place remind you of the co-op?” He asked. “The one in Austin?”

“Yes,” Izzy said. Golden blooms flew around them.

Izzy told Harry more about the house and the garden and he leaned in to listen, rapt, nodding almost constantly. Oh god, what was he actually doing here? After she stalked him?

“You must think I’m stalking you,” Izzy said. She could never keep a filter on around him.

“I thought you’d think that of me,” Harry replied, laughing a bit. “I saw the house—we drove past your house on the way here. You have more claim to this place than I do.”

“You’re just going to cede all this territory?”

“Yes,” Harry said, “I’m clearly on your turf. ‘M not even slightly Italian.”

“I feel bad for you,” Izzy joked. Harry smiled.

Izzy was about to start in on more small talk - she had only started to tell him about her apartment with Olivia back at his house, and she could go through the curricula of her horticulture classes - when Harry cut her off. “Want to dance, Izzy?” Izzy threw back the rest of her limoncello, sugar biting the back of her throat, and followed him through the little doorway at the end of the courtyard outside. You could just hear the guitar from out there.

Harry put his right hand on Izzy’s waist and paused, like the wind was knocked out of him. Izzy put her hand on his shoulder. He seemed to get a grip of himself, she put her other hand in his.

Just then, Izzy heard a familiar song. I got my red dress on tonight, dancing in the dark… They started moving easily, just like they did in the arena the night he first taught Izzy how to dance. So she could go dance with George.

She heard that voice echo in her mind: I love teaching you to dance so you can dance with other men.

“I asked him to play it before I said hello to you,” Harry said sheepishly.

“Harry, what are you actually doing here?” He spun her away from him and then pulled her back closer.

“You were gone when I got back.”

Izzy didn’t know he came back for her. “I texted you. You didn’t return any of my messages.”

“I was—there was a lot going on. A lot of shit. I was trying to protect you,” he offered.

The words just flew out of her: “Thank you for trying to be soft handed with me, but I’m not a kid - you don’t have to hide things from me.”

“I’m sorry I did that,” Harry said.

“I waited for you, for a long time. It felt like forever. You left me there. You left me there in the arena.”

“You left the tour.”

think I’ll miss you forever, like the stars miss the sun in the morning sky

“I was scared. It wasn’t just Tara. It was you,” Izzy said. The truth.

Harry nodded.

“You and Jess…” Izzy started.

“There’s no me and Jess, Izzy,” Harry said firmly. “It’s all just for the tour. Ryan’s idea.”

“I don’t think it’s fake for her,” Izzy persisted.

“Nothing’s ever happened between us. Nothing.”

“I think she’s in love with you, Harry.”

Just then, Izzy heard a familiar voice gasp. She looked up, to see Meg and Olivia at the hostel’s second floor balcony, looking down at them. Or at least Meg was, until her head whipped around like she had seen a ghost and the two disappeared back into the hostel.

“The deal is that it goes until the summer—that’s how I got them off the tour for a few months at least, that was the trade I made with Ryan.”

“I didn’t know that. That does sound like something he would insist on, he’s so obsessed with social.”

“And I’m sorry about those stupid fucking photos. I was—I interfered, and—“

“No, you were right. You were right. You knew George, and it would have been better for me to be off the tour than with him. I wish you would have just told me about him, there was so much I didn’t know—“

“Would you have believed me? You would have just thought I was jealous.”

“That’s fair. I mean, I had no idea that you feel… That you felt that way.”

The past tense landed like an anvil between them.

Harry’s phone buzzed; someone was calling him. He silenced it, then put his arms around her again.

“Do you remember it, like I remember it?” Harry said, looking at his feet. They started moving easily, just like they did in the arena the night he first taught Izzy how to dance. She remembered the confetti falling around them.

Izzy nodded. Their faces were close; his hair brushed her forehead.

“Izzy. Come back on tour with me. George and Lydia are only joining for some of the dates—they won’t bother us, and I’m sure they won’t last that long, anyway.”

Harry’s eyes searched hers. A little supercut of the tour played across them in Izzy’s mind: Listening to Harry from the side of the stage with Meg, lying under the stage with Olivia, sitting on the stage after the show with Harry and Elijah, Jess and Lydia and George laughing together in the back room, lying in the grass with Harry at the co-op, playing guitar with Tara in the green room, Harry comforting Lydia, flashbulbs breaking through her window, Tara coughing up blood from the floor at that party. The reel glitched on those images and played them over and over: Tara on the floor, Tara on the floor, Lydia and George, Lydia and George.

Harry’s phone buzzed again. He silenced it again, waiting for her reply. “Izzy? It could be whatever you want. The secret girlfriend. Seamstress for the band?”

And there it was: Izzy felt her anxiety rushing back in, filling a cavern inside her that had been empty and maybe just waiting for it to come back. Harry was trying to be playful, but Izzy winced. He was waiting for her answer and she couldn’t stall. Her heart raced: she saw her self in Australia with Harry, Paris, London, Warsaw, Spain. She saw herself watching Harry and Jess faking a relationship for clout. She saw herself awkwardly avoiding George and Lydia. Suddenly, that last one eclipsed all the other things. She felt her heart start racing. “It ends in… July?”

“We’re in California for January, and then we wrap back here in Italy in July.”

“Back in LA.”

“Just for January.”

Harry’s words raced through her mind: seamstress for the band. She would be back in Los Angeles again, the city where George was recording, for almost a month. Izzy exhaled. She wouldn’t let anxiety make this decision. She tried to think: what do I actually want? Do I want to go back on the tour, or do I want to keep living with Olivia, go to classes, and work on what I’ve been building? She wanted to tell Harry more of the truth—they still weren’t saying everything. 

“You didn’t want to be with me… over the holidays, when I was texting you,” Izzy stammered. “You left me on read for weeks. But you want me on the tour.”

“I thought you hated me. I was sure you hated me. It was only when I heard you were here, that I thought…”

“I don’t hate you, Harry.”

His eyes widened. He pulled her hand up onto his chest—his heart was racing, too, tapping her fingertips.

“Not anymore?” He said. Izzy wanted to make a decision based on what she wanted, not what she was afraid of. 

Izzy leaned in and kissed him, soft lips crushing into hers just like she remembered. He put his other hand up to her face, fingertips in her hair, dragging his thumb along her cheek. A flower had caught in his hair. 

Harry kissed her cheek, then her neck. He wound his arms around her waist and crushed her against him, pressing his lips to hers again.

“Izzy.”

“Harry.”  

Izzy wanted to go with him, so badly. So badly. She pulled away and looked at Harry. Jess’s words echoed in her mind: You’re back on your bullshit, living for other people. 

“I want you to come and find me in July,” Izzy said. Harry’s face furrowed—anger flashed across it, just like it had before.

“I thought you were coming back with me now. Eddie, Elijah—they’re all excited to see you, they all know you’re coming with me. We leave Saturday. Everything’s set.”

Izzy stepped back from him. “I don’t think I can watch you fake it with Jess.” The words she was saying felt like they were coming out of another person’s mouth. The person who enrolled in the classes, the person who got her own apartment, the person who didn’t want to be the secret girlfriend; Izzy felt, for a moment, that this was a separate person than who she actually was—she was desperate to be with Harry again.

Harry’s phone buzzed again. He silenced it again.

“Wait…” Izzy said. Her hand dropped from his chest. “How did you know that I was here?”

Harry sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “Lydia. Lydia told me.”

More secrets and lies, Izzy thought. She was left out again, not knowing what was going on—just like she had been with Lydia and George, and Harry and Jess. She felt like a kid at a grown up party again. 

“I don’t want to keep things from you,” Harry said, reading her look. “I’m just trying not to hurt you. I have been trying to talk sense into Lydia. I told her about George’s debt, just like I told you—she didn’t know how bad it was. How bad it still is.”

“I want to be with you,” Izzy said. Harry smiled. 

“Me too, Izzy. That’s all I want.” They were so close, Izzy thought. So close to everything being perfect. 

“When the fake relationship is over. When George and Lydia aren’t there—I’m sure I’ll be fine with all of it, in time, but I honestly can’t deal with them at all right now. Just even hearing anything about them, it’s too much…”

“I’m on the road alone for seven months and then see if you’re still around? That’s what you want?”

“It’s not that I want it, it’s just what I think I can tolerate.”

“Seven months away from you? Izzy, I don’t know if I can.”  

Noise from the courtyard broke in: it was almost midnight and the backpackers had crowded around the bar to count down. They were shouting: 20, 19... 

His phone buzzed again. “Bloody hell,” he said. He finally took it out of his pocket and checked who it was. He scrolled through a few messages, color draining from his face.

“Izzy, I… are Meg and Olivia still around? You’re not alone ‘ere, right?”

“They’re here. You’re here.”

Just then, Meg called over from the courtyard. “Did you tell her already?” Meg asked Harry.

10, 9...

“Tell me what?” Izzy asked, sharply. She felt like she was on the outside again. Meg walked over and put her hand on Izzy’s shoulder. Olivia followed, and tilted her phone toward her.

It was a news headline in The Daily Mail. George and Lydia were engaged. Rock god, whirlwind romance, fashion icon jumped out from the screen.

Izzy closed her eyes then opened them again. She was hoping that the headline would have disappeared. But it was still there, and more were popping up after it. They were planning to elope. They were already in Vegas, or maybe they were already married—some articles said Vegas, some said California. Harry said something, but Izzy couldn’t hear him.

Meg gently pushed the phone away. “You dodged a bullet,” she said.

“So it could hit Lydia,” Izzy replied.

3, 2...

“I’ll go,” Harry said. “I’m sorry.” He kissed her cheek and stepped away to answer the phone. Izzy grabbed for the phone again and saw a stream of photos: Lydia smiling deliriously, George smirking at the camera, a huge emerald ring.

Happy New Year!

“What am I supposed to do?” Izzy asked no one. “Do I go back on the tour? How can I help her?”

“You can’t. This is her choice,” Olivia said.

“Stupid choice,” Meg added.

Olivia sat down in an old iron chair leaning against the wall and extended another glass of limoncello to Izzy, who gulped it down.

“He knows about the insurance payout, doesn’t he?” Meg asked. Izzy swore under her breath. She hadn’t even considered that.

“Insurance payout?” Olivia asked.

“He’s drowning in debt, and Lydia got a payout when her mom died. I don’t think she’s actually touched much of it.”

“How can we help her?” Izzy asked. “Before you suggest it, I’m not going back on the tour so I can watch her and George together and maybe get poisoned by Jess.” Olivia laughed.

“I think you have to do what would make you happiest, not what would fix Lydia. You’ve done a lot over the last three months,” Meg said.

“What are you going to do, Izzy?”

Izzy looked around for Harry, but he was gone.

next chapter

[daily-foulmouthed-thoughts]

Like are you fucking serious right now?

Mondays are absolutely the worst. Mondays are the September of the weekdays .. wake me up when it's over seriously.

But why?

Let me give you a little look into my life.

-I have severe anxiety and of course with that comes the even worse panic attacks.

-even more personal ... it's way worse on school weeks when I have to share my kids every other weekend because I got no time with them. If Mondays make me feel some type of way, I wonder if it does them too ...

-Mondays mean that we're supposed to start our work week... but, for someone like me ... Mondays are usually spent in bed with my brain rolling and jumping from thought to thought. I might even go from room to room and just sit and stare at everything I want to "fix or diy or clean" but everything is just so fucking overwhelming ... Back to bed I go.

Oh the possibilities of the week... everything I want to do because it's Monday .. all these ideas I have in my head for the week - let's get motivated... Maybe i'll build a whole new work station and omg I can build cabinets for my sink, no wait I need to work .. so let's draw some design that might go viral and make my life easier - but probally not.. I'll probally just spend all day on it and delete it because after working all day on it I'm not the same person I was at the beginning of the day and it no longer fits my vision. That's more like it.

And of course .. it's technically Monday now so let's kick today's ass ...

Time to go to bed so I can wake up and do everything on my list. Probally not but hey it's a good thought right

✌️

[onlydaughter09]

Feeling depressed 😔 ☹️ 🙁 very sad & lonely 🙁 overwhelmed 😢 like I'm just to much 4 everyone 😢

[thecpdiary]

Stopping My Anxiety Waves

It’s been a long journey, a difficult journey, not one that I have relished, but one that I’ve had to endure. Giving up was never on my radar.

Stopping my anxiety waves is my priority, one which I struggle to do. I need to put a rubber stop on sliding further into anxious thinking. With autism, it’s the place I automatically go back to and that isn’t great.

My habitual ways of thinking can leave me stuck. Through spiritual growth, through my writing, I know I have flourished and blossomed, but if I wasn’t stuck at ‘home’ I would probably see that. Easy to lose sight when your life stagnates.

I have been lost in my autistic cavern for years. It’s a place I am familiar with, it’s my ‘go to place.’ A place that no one without autism will ever understand. As I continue to work through things, I try to seek out ways, to work through my anxiety, so through my writing, I can continue to be a support to others.

Through my writing, I work with universal truths. The reality, is that unless you’re working with universal truths, everything else isn’t the truth. Through media outlets, it’s a lot of what we’re seeing right now.

As I continue to write, to put truths out on my blog, it is difficult to hear and read stories contrary to what are universal truths. That causes my anxiety to rise.

For more inspirational, life-changing blogs, please check out my site https://www.thecpdiary.com

[betterlyf]

Social anxiety is often largely ignored, misunderstood or simply not taken seriously because of the myths surrounding it. Get to know some actual facts against these myths that are prevalent about social anxiety by swiping left! 

[kitsubug]

Just getting ready for fall term next week! Lol! Don’t judge, because you don’t know what they’re battling, and would like them to do the same for you. . . . #art #sketchtember2020 #sketchtember #anxiety #depression #livingwithanxiety #drawing #anxietyart #depressionart #artistsoninstagram #sketch #sketcheveryday #pencildrawing #braindump https://www.instagram.com/p/CFOIkh3hKnO/?igshid=16xo4o83kwxle

[dizzyingdisarray-blog]

Week 19: Entertainment

So what are you all doing for entertainment these last few months? Humans love to be entertained, and we love to be amused. Entertainment is a big word. It encompasses a huge jurisdiction in our lives. We can’t live without it and right now, we are all looking for entertainment to get us through these strange times we are living in.  The lack of availability to access entertainment like movie…

[theyogiluci]

Living as an empath

I live with anxiety and depression . Every day is a challenge, because it’s not just my emotions I feel, I’m an empath, so I’m sensitive to others emotions and energy. I only just learned I was an empath from doing research after I was told by a medium about my sensitivity. I never understood why I would start crying suddenly, unprovoked. It’s because I’m like a cell tower. I receive “transmissions “ if you will, from people around the globe. So, when tragedy strikes, I feel this static energy deep inside me (around my heart chakra) it’s not my energy. But my body absorbs it like a sponge. I’m getting better though dealing with it. I’ve started taking Ashwaganda, an adaptogenic mushroom that aids in balancing the cortisol levels in my brain. I’ve stopped all caffeine (as my doctor recommended.) I carry around smokey quarts for protection against others energy, and when I feel anxiety/depression creeping up, I ask myself if this energy belongs to me. 9/10 times it’s not. So I ask the energy kindly to leave me, and ask my guardians to protect me. And usually, I feel a lot better. I also keep a journal of how I’m feeling, where I write what oracle/tarot card I pulled for the day, the moon phase, and anything else I feel worth mentioning. I’m sharing this because I want you to know, if you suffer from any mental illness or are a fellow empath, you’re not alone. Please talk to your doctor or a councillor if you experience any symptoms of depression and/or anxiety. And feel free to try out some of the natural methods I’ve mentioned and please share any tips in the comments, I’d love to hear more ways to feel better 💚

[yvaquietdays]

Resistance

I’ve been walking around with a frown on my face.

Especially when the sun is hiding behind the clouds, when it isn’t bright enough to warrant my eyebrows furrowing so deeply in the middle of my face. 

I’ve realised that I walk around like I’ve got a fucking chip dancing on my shoulder. Like I’ve got something to say. I’m more serious than any of you. I have a sadness you’ll never see. I have fear that you’ll never know. Why do I do this? The more I notice it, the more I notice it in others. 

I think the most sensitive among us tell ourselves stories about who we are, as a kind of buffer between us and the rest of the world. If there’s a soft barrier of fluff, protecting us from all the plastic and all the pollution and idiocy and noise, nothing can get in, right? We’re a naturally resistant bunch; resistant to trying, resistant to the journey, resistant to the work. All because, deep down, trudging past all our past experiences, our sad memories, the crushing feeling of historical failures, of genetic behaviours and inherited pain, at the very core of everything, we’re afraid to fall. 

Neither has it escaped my notice that we also tend to have the most ideas, we really do try the most, we really do work hard to move past that resistance. We just give ourselves a really, really hard time about the work that we do do.

I had a really great conversation with a friend recently. He mentioned his own resistance, and it gave me pause. How much do I resist? What gives me the most anxiety? I tell myself fables about how I don’t need to try, I’m quite content and happy without all that, thanks very much. I like my quiet life (I do, as it happens), but what was all this for if I’m just gonna jack it in because I enjoy my living room?!*

*I did actually think this.

So as our feet dragged around in circles around the colourful streets of Soho, it occurred to me that my fear would literally do anything it took to keep me contained in a similar cycle. Conditioned by it, never moving, never progressing. The people I admire the most are the ones that just do, and yet doing gives me so many willies I’m considering filing a lawsuit against the very sentiment.

#willies

Oddly enough, things that are well within my remit are the very things that I instinctively reject. Push against first, think about second and finally do third...reluctantly, hesitantly. I’m not leaving that part out. The most successful of us would have us believe they over-came their obstacles to achieve their goals, but my bet is that even when they did it, they felt sick about it. Nobody is ever sure of the outcomes of their work when they’re doing it, it’s only when there is a result that we can lament over our past anxieties. But those anxieties never go away; they’re just hovering around the next goal. Accepting that is important, and I know this because I’ve been known to be very smug about my good days, and humbled in my bad. So I have to do the work every day to hardwire the brain to make me happier. 

The path to happiness is a constant, quiet journey. I’m only just coming to realise that. So while I’m trying not to guilt myself about my fear, I’m focusing on doing the things that I’m good at, instead of worrying about getting it wrong. It starts by doing. Doing a shitty job, doing the bare minimal of what someone has asked of you, it’s just trying. Nothing more. Personally, once I’ve climbed that first barrier, I realise that the drop isn’t really that high. When you’re climbing an actual cliff above the ocean, it’s not scary. You can fall back in the water, but it won’t hurt so long as you don’t bash your head off the rocks and drown. What I’m saying is, you just get another foothold and learn where not to step, what not to do this time, but, you know, the journey just isn’t straight forward. Life isn’t a parallel line between where you started and where you finish. The line is traversing and squiggly and sometimes doubles back, checks itself, surges forward, stops for a while. Life is not linear, one point to another. It is constant. Going, doing, moving, moment after moment.

It’s easier to stay in bed. It’s easier not to do. It’s easier not to try. You don’t miss anything.

It’s also way better to get up and see the warm razors of sunlight coming through your curtains and the little dust motes dancing within it. It’s way better to hear the annoying cawing of two magpies chattering at 6am. It’s so much better to go for the run and see the old guy on his too-small moped with a half smoked cigarette hanging from his mouth with a trail of traffic behind him and minding his own sweet business, or the little girl riding what must have been a ridiculously expensive display-of-wealth-furry-horse-on-wheels in a South London park. It’s so much better to have written the song, to have written the book, to have looked someone in the eye and smiled and received one back. It’s so much more fulfilling to have gone to bed knowing you tried. 

Even if it was the bare minimal. Even if you made a mistake; the mistakes just carve out the path ahead so you don’t make them again. And if you do make them again? Doesn’t matter. You didn’t miss anything.

I’ve resisted trying for a long time. Resisted seeing friends, resisted committing to plans, resisted making myself vulnerable with the people I love. Resisted talking back, resisted standing up for myself. Resisted writing, singing, making. Resisted my art. 

So part of the battle is recognising when we’re resisting doing the thing because we’re afraid.

And so fucking what? We’re all afraid. Everyone’s afraid. The vast majority of people in the world don’t know who you are, and even if they happen to, what makes you think they’re not so wrapped up in their own worlds to really care about yours? They’re too terrified about their own. So you might as well just do it, right? Everyone fucks up. Nobodies looking. What makes us so bloody precious?

I need to stop treating myself like a faberge egg and more like the relentless and resilient oak tree that I am. It’ll take some work.

Not doing means I’m not living.

So don’t miss it.

[briannasnextchapter]

So it turns out when people say that exercise and eating healthier makes your mind and body feel better... THEY’RE RIGHT! I’ve started incorporating these things more consistently in to my life lately and it blows my mind how much of a difference I feel already! I’m not just talking about loosing weight, I’m mostly talking about mental health. It’s like I found this magical thing that I can do that automatically makes me have better mental health days...you would think I would be jumping for joy when it was time to exercise everyday BUT it still is a struggle to get motivated (although it foes get a little easier everyday)even though I know I’ll feel better after. I WISH the “magic thing” that made me feel good mentally was eating doughnuts and watching Netflix but unfortunately not lol! But what I really want to say is (and what I have gotten wrong in the past) is that exercise can be ANYTHING you want it to be as long as you get yourself moving. I used to feel so overwhelmed thinking I had to go to the gym for an hour or go running or show up at a workout class everyday. But really it can be taking your dog for a 10 minute walk, doing some yoga stretches in the morning or doing 25 min workout videos at home (like i’m doing with the @beachbody on demand videos). Just getting your body moving in anyway is a great start! Don’t overwhelm yourself by thinking you have to workout like a fitness model on day 1. Depending on what’s going in in your life, your stress level, and your mental and physical health... just start however you can... Remember> YOU’RE LIFE’S PURPOSE IS NOT TO CONSTANTLY TRY TO LOOSE WEIGHT! Your purpose is to be as happy and healthy as possible! Doing the best you can and making better choices everyday... find out what works for you. Then go be proud of yourself 💗 (image from @naturallife) #fitnessmotivation #mentalhealthawareness #mentalhealthsupport #fitnessjourney #recoveryjourney #motivationoftheday #fightdepression #anxietyrelief #livingwithanxiety #wellnessjourney #livingwell #healthyhappylife #mindbodysoul #wellpreneur #mindbodygram #moveyourbody #inspirationdaily #goalsetting #movenourishbelieve #wellnessblogger #followfriday https://www.instagram.com/p/B4VccS4p_8k/?igshid=fy20x1cryvlw

[bawarementally]

Oh yea! My days lately 😞 #anxiety #anxietyisabitch #livingwithanxiety #dailyanxiety #anxieties https://www.instagram.com/p/B3ZXfhcgZEE/?igshid=1rrlkvjqo7xkf

[alexandramollon]

Sometimes life gets hard. The thing about that though is that all of a sudden I can literally feel the surge of love from all of the people in my life to support me and for you all I am eternally grateful. I am a lucky ass bitch with the greatest family and friends a girl could ask for. . That’s all I’ve got today y’all. Sometimes things are ugly but more often than not there is beauty to be found in those spaces. . . #gratefulaf . . #grateful #gratefulheart #openyourheart #heartopener #bendybabe #bendy #yoga #lululemon #thesweatlife #coloradolife #redhead #yogababe #yogababes #backbends #bendyyogis #backbend #backbendlove #monday #livingwithanxiety #anxietyrelief (at City Park) https://www.instagram.com/p/Bte0ADHFkAR/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=132s554es2wap

[tranquil-olive]

Somedays I want to feel like I am a beautiful Woman. While I view myself as gender fluid, I sometimes feel like an 'amorphous blob of a human', when what I really want to feel is beautiful and comfortable in my own skin. I never feel like a beautiful woman, and rarely do I feel like a beautiful human. Maybe it has nothing to do with how I view my gender. Maybe it is my low self-esteem, my lack of unconditional love and accptance for myself. Maybe its because I dress like a guy, partly to hide myself. And I realize this may not be serving me. And YES. My body is wonderful and strong; I've been amazed and proud of everything my body is capable of doing. And I can see that I have beauty inside of me as well. But too often than not, I hold harsh judgement on myself and presume what others think of me. I wish those moments of feeling proud, comfortable, beautiful,strong were not fleeting. I wish I could look in the mirror and not feel disappointed at the face staring back at me. Maybe someday I will find the love for myself that I seek. Maybe someday I will put less value on the opinions' of others. #personal #writing #thoughts #sharing #self #feelings #freewriting #feels #journaling #livingwithanxiety #livingwithdepression #life #words #genderfluid #selfesteem #selflove #unconditionallove https://www.instagram.com/extraaguacamole/p/BvyEh0sl05Z/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1qnhy36yxxvxl

[selandrian]

My anxiety disorder is kicking my butt and completely blocking all creativity. I've tried giving it time and experimenting with different medias, but I get in my head and scrap anything that doesn't feel perfect.. So now I'll try forcing myself to create. I need to draw and paint aimlessly for a bit. I did create this piece today, rainbows and mandalas make me happy. This felt good to finish. Anyone else living with GAD who get noticeably worse in darker seasons? November through March is always bad for me. . . . #selandriansart #mandala #zenspiration #zentangle #zendoodle #arttherapy #livingwithanxiety #anxietydisorders #artistsofinstagram #artistlife #rainbowlove #rainbowart #drawwhatyoulove #mandalaslovers #mandalaart #zenart #chameleonmarkers #strathmoretonedgray #generalscharcoal #drawing #art #seasonalaffectivedisorder https://www.instagram.com/p/BvSD24sg4i1/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=19vympjx2c1gc

[allysonmariehope]

I didn’t make this, but I’m so glad I found it. #validated #me #anxiety #livingwithanxiety #time #timeparanoid #timeparanoia #timeanxiety #ithoughtiwastheonlyone #thankyouinternet #anxietyruinsmylife #thisisme #gladimnotalone https://www.instagram.com/p/BuDaMUIHDMV/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1b2pibkyepf79

[fitnessinspiredlife-blog]

Week B: Full Body! 💪🏼👊🏼 finally back on track with the boyfriend so we can start doing the same ones together again. . . . . . . . . . . . . . #boyfriend #swolemates #fullbody #personalrecords #proud #hardwork #fitnessmotivation #designedbyme #fitnessbygv #fitnesslife #weightloss #fueledbypescience #weightlossjourney #discipline #motivation #mentalhealth #weightlifting #liftheavy #girlswholift #livingwithanxiety #girlswithmuscle #strongnotskinny https://www.instagram.com/p/BsUiOpVnk2D/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1bhljb99otbiu