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My Arms Are Just for Show Now

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Part of having anxiety is being afraid to ask for help. Mostly it’s because I don’t want to be an inconvenience, but I also have an intense fear of rejection. What if I asked and they said no?! I’d die, probably.
This covers everything from needing to borrow money to needing help hanging a medicine cabinet. It extra covers needing help with my mental state, but that’s a whole other blog post.
I usually end up mentioning what I need help with in hopes that someone will offer to help, even though that’s a chicken way to go about it. My ex couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t just come right out and ask. I just can’t! Anxiety won’t let me!
Today this particular aspect of anxiety hit me hard, twice.
Yesterday one of the bosses asked for my help with something. They’re having students volunteer to come in and speak with our vendor about one of our websites so we know what needs to be improved. The boss man has an appointment and couldn’t make it to some of these interviews, so he asked …

Throwing Eggs Does Not End a Panic Attack

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I’ve never enjoyed cooking. I have ADHD so I have a hard time following recipes – my eyes jump around on the page and I always end up skipping a step. Making it up as I go doesn’t work either – When I look at all the food in the pantry, I see ingredients, but my brain doesn’t put them all together in a way that would make a dish.
While cooking I get myself so worked up because I’m afraid of failing. I’m afraid of ruining someone’s meal, so I work myself into a panic attack. Of course I didn’t realize that’s what was happening until about a decade ago. Before that, I thought cooking just made me angry.
I’ll never forget the time my first husband threw eggs at me because I was cooking and upset. I was making breakfast and it wasn’t going my way, as usual. In retrospect, I was obviously having a panic attack, but all he saw was that I was in a bad mood. I handed him his plate of eggs and bacon and walked back to the kitchen. While walking across the room, he threw the plate at me. It …

Validating the Anxiety

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I’m not lazy, I have anxiety.
I’m not antisocial, I have anxiety.
I’m not a bitch, I have anxiety.
Okay, so sometimes I can be a bitch… but chances are good that anxiety has at least a little something to do with it. And honestly, I try so hard to be kind.
You might think I use anxiety as an excuse or a crutch. And maybe I do sometimes. But I also struggle to overcome it a lot more than you know. 9/10 times I try to beat anxiety, I fail. But sometimes, on that tenth try, I succeed and I’m on top of the world. Then someone criticizes something about me and I’m right back to square one.
I’ve always been overly sensitive, ever since I was a child. Hell, ever since I was an infant. Turns out a good chunk of that is caused by anxiety. Any bad thing you could think about me, I promise you I’ve had thoughts ten times worse – daily. And when you say it, the anxiety is validated, and I believe everything it says.
Sometimes I push those thoughts to the back of my mind and ignore them, bu…

I got what I want... why am I crying?

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The above picture is an excellent portrayal of how far I’ve gotten with packing. My youngest built a box fort while my eldest played on her phone. Meanwhile, I was going in and out of the house bringing empty boxes in and taking filled boxes to the car.

I’m in a weird place today. When my husband said he wanted a divorce over a year ago, I was crushed. For months I felt lost and hopeless. I lost the home I’d lived in for nearly ten years, mine and my childrens’ lives were turned upside down, and I felt like a complete failure.

Since then I have worked so hard to improve my situation. I got a new job, I moved several times before renting the trailer I’ve been in for a year (the first place I’ve ever had on my own), I got a new job, and have worked hard to improve my credit score.

I’m happy with where my life is right now.

I decided I could have lower monthly payments (and SO much more room) if I owned instead of rented, and have worked for months to make that a reality. It’s been hard…

The Ripple Effect

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I’m going through one of the most anxiety-riddled times of my life right now. The stress of purchasing a house on my own (and constantly being terrified of something ruining the whole thing) and the stress of being poor during the holidays (and being terrified of disappointing my children on Christmas) is rippling out and making my everyday normal anxieties ten times bigger.
Anxiety is always telling me that people don’t really like me. They’re just being nice and pretending so they don’t hurt my feelings. Why would anyone like me? I’m boring, antisocial, needy, and riddled with anxiety. We call these brain weasels.Usually we can fight off brain weasels with logic, and they’re not a huge deal. But with all this additional stress and anxiety, my brain weasels have been running amok. So much so, that I decided everyone I’m closest to – friends, family, and significant others, would all be better off without me.
I honestly didn’t realize what I’d been doing. This is a brain weasel I’v…

The Stress and Anxiety of Improving Your Situation

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I live in a trailer. It’s not terrible, but it’s not all that nice, either. It looks like crap on the outside, though my fall wreath on the door helps. On the inside it’s cute – I’ve decorated with everything geeky and as much purple as I can manage without it looking like Barney threw up in the place.
The problem is, the living space is small. I have two children, and there is just no space for all their toys and clothes. My son can’t clean his room because there’s just nowhere to put everything. There isn’t even room for a dresser in his bedroom, so his clothes are in a hanging contraption in his closet, and they’re constantly falling out of it.
I separated from my husband a little over a year ago. We filed for bankruptcy two years ago, so I didn’t think home ownership would be in the cards for me anytime soon. Especially since I have zero money for a down payment, and living paycheck to paycheck means no way of saving.
But a realtor friend made it happen for me.
She got me an …

Fat and Anxious

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I was once one of those skinny bitches who thought she was fat.
I know now that body dysmorphia is real, because I was convinced I was chubby even when I was only 112 pounds. I’ve always had plenty of junk in the trunk, and when I sat down I had the smallest roll over my pants. I’m pretty sure it was all skin. My rolls now laugh at my tiny skin roll back then.
I was one of those people who could eat anything and not gain weight. But in my mid-twenties I started getting heavier. I chalked it up to aging and metabolism. My mom was a bit chubby, so I figured genetics had something to do with it as well. I tried diet, exercise, and diet pills, but nothing helped. I figured I was just doomed to be chubby.
I gained 70 pounds in a year. I married a man I didn’t really love because I figured I’m fat, this is the best I can get.
I decided I wanted babies, but after a year of trying and my periods completely stopping, I was forced to seek medical help. It was then, at 25, that I discovered …