Tag: anxiety

Mental Health

Shiver

Ruby Pipes6 Comments

"Empty" © Josh James, 2011. CC BY 2.0.
“Empty” © Josh James, 2011. CC BY 2.0.
It can be hard to get up again. Tough to get going. All worn down, but still rough around the edges. I can never tell if I can blame the cold, the long weekend, hormones, medication, caffeine consumption, or 5K races. Never tell if there is any sense in blaming.

Two hours to get two feet on the floor. Another hour before I even start to think about eating. Trying to decide how I can get out of the commitments I’ve made today. Continue reading →

Autobiography

Extrinsic

Ruby Pipes8 Comments

"Minimalism outside" © 55Laney69, 2012. CC BY 2.0.
“Minimalism outside” © 55Laney69, 2012. CC BY 2.0.
I find myself looking for someone else to tell me what I’m doing is good. Is important. Is valuable. I keep trying to convince myself I’m intrinsically motivated, but I don’t trust my own opinion enough. I’d like to be. I want to be. But maybe only because I’ve heard other people say I should. I wonder if there’s a right way to do anything. If there is an answer to, “What should I focus on? What should I pour attention into?” I wonder if there is ever an answer to a “should” question at all.

Even now. I’m spending all my time writing. Reaching out and connecting. I’m doing the hard work. I’m growing and I find it fulfilling. But when I get home at night I still look at Mason with puppy-eyes and hope he’ll agree this is significant. I still feel like it doesn’t count if people don’t share the stuff I write, don’t comment, don’t hit “like”. As if what I get out of it is somehow tied to what you get out of it. Continue reading →

Addiction

Emerge

Ruby Pipes2 Comments

"City behind a barbed wire" © Michal Macura, 2012. CC BY-NC-SA 2.0.
“City behind a barbed wire” © Michal Macura, 2012. CC BY-NC-SA 2.0.
“I don’t understand where this came from and I just…I just hate it. I never used to be like this.”

“Yes you did. You just masked it.”

I constructed an idea of who I am out of hundreds of nights spent smoking cigarettes and drinking bourbon. Trimmed it with drug abuse. Dusted it with a series of destructive relationships. The things I did defined me. They let me ignore the person underneath. I was a series of actions. Choices without a skeleton to hold them. Fragility. Vulnerability. Insecurity, frustration, and anger. There was no place for them between empty bottles and bloody noses. I could pretend I was the person the substances made me. In that there was safety. Continue reading →