I've been struggling with anxiety for about 6 months now. I haven't quite pinpointed why and that bothers me. It bothers me to admit that I have anxiety to be honest. It was never something I had a problem with. Now, suddenly, bam. Fucking deal with it because you haven't found a way to make it stop.
A lot of things have happened this year. I turned thirty. I bought a house. My father died. I adopted another dog. I'm starting a job. My house has foundation issues.
I don't want to believe that turning 30 has anything to do with it, but I may be ready to concede that it does. I just wanted the death of my twenties to pass by unnoticed. I wanted that passing to be insignificant. A blip and it's gone. I've counseled countless friends through it. It's no big deal, thirty is certainly not old. And it isn't. But it is a precipice. It means you don't actually have all the time in the world left. I'm at the point that I need to realize that, accept it and then go back about my life. The reality is no one ever knows how much time is left or what will happen during that time. I know that. But maybe sometimes we need to come out and say, "Fuck this. I don't fucking like it right now and I really just want to fucking pout about it. I don't fucking want to be strong today. And I just want to say fuck every other word." Sometimes a temper tantrum works. At least I'm hoping it will. I'm hoping that I can put these words out into the universe for everyone to see and that I will just get over it. I'll let you know how that goes.
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