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I have a flesh eating virus.

The soft tissue of my body has been overtaken by a flesh eating virus.

Or so it feels.

Anxiety making its way up and down my arms.

He is no friend of mine.

He hurts me.

Hurts the ones that love me.

Eats me alive.

Conversations with myself spiral.

Who said that?

What do you want from me?

What is wrong?

Something.

Can you be more specific?

Something is wrong.

NOTHING is ever specific with anxiety.

It’s a flesh eating virus that induces spiraling self-conversations that never get anywhere.

Anxiety is not a friend.

It is a foe.

Equipped with battle gear to fiend off your efforts to rid yourself of him.

A virus without a cure.

Eating you alive.

Anxiety makes everything difficult to understand.

To navigate.

To piece together.

Anxiety fogs reality.

Where are my wipers?

My battle gear?

My cure?

But there is not cure for anxiety.

No quick fix.

No all-protecting battle gear.

Instead, fighting off anxiety takes persistence.

Tenacity.

Grit.

It takes showing up each and everyday ready to take it.

Ready to face the all-powerful, all-consuming anxiety.

Ready to strip it of its power.

The flesh-eating virus puts up a good fight.

But I can handle it.

I can make it through.

I’m showing up everyday and I’m ready.

I won’t back down.

My track record is 100% for surviving my anxiety.

The flesh-eating virus never consumes me.

If I don’t fight back its as if it loses its power.

Anxiety is not all-powerful.

Anxiety is not all-consuming.

Anxiety is an ugly liar.

And anxiety does not win.

My track record proves that.

Does yours?

 

 

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I let my racing thoughts at 1 AM consume me.

Recently I shared a meme on Facebook.

It got a few likes, a share, a couple of comments. It was lighthearted. It made me laugh when I saw it. I shared it with no second thoughts.

Except last night, late at night, they crept in.

“You have no friends.”

“No one texts you.”

“No one asks how your day is.”

“No one likes you.”

These terrible, awful things I said to myself hurt.

I let my racing thoughts at 1 AM consume me. 

All because of this meme:

friends

I’ve never had many friends.

Growing up, I always felt like an outsider. I kept myself locked up because I was afraid of being rejected. Afraid of being made fun of. Afraid of people finding out what life was like at my house. The fighting. The screaming. The violence.

When I moved away from my old life- to another city- another school. I had the chance to be the real me. The me people would love.

But they didn’t. I was still so guarded. And my guard put up a really good front.

A “I don’t need you” front.

A “I’m better than you” front.

And this kind of continued into my adulthood.

I can not even count how many people have told me, “I thought you were stuck up when I met you.”

Well, I’m not.

How could I possibly be stuck up when half of the time I’m not certain if I even like myself? When I’m down, I’m

D

O

W

N.

I’m just guarded. Afraid. Terrified of being rejected. Petrified of being vulnerable.

This is something I have worked HARD on the past 4-5 years. Trying to show the real me. The genuine me. The me who cares and loves so deeply. The me who has hid for far too long. The me who has made mistakes. And has tried to right them.

The me who could be an amazing friend if you gave me the chance.

However, change doesn’t happen overnight. It also doesn’t always happen in 4-5 years… no matter how hard we try.

I am still guarded.

My walls around myself are so high that they may not be worth climbing.

But that doesn’t mean I need to take the negative self-talk. The terrible, ugly things I say to myself late at night. The LIES my mind tells me. The lies that leave me in tears.

“You have no friends.”

“No one texts you.”

“No one asks how your day is.”

“No one likes you.”

These are not truths. 

I do have friends. Not many- not many that I talk to on a regular basis- but they exist.

People do text me. My husband and I text each and every day. And he ALWAYS asks how my day is going.

I’m sure someone likes me? My husband loves me. My mom thinks I’m cool. Doesn’t that count?

I’m done talking so ugly to myself. Why do we do this to ourselves? We feed ourselves inaccurate information that we absolutely accept as truth without challenging it.

I want to challenge you: combat the negative self-talk you may say to yourself. Ask yourself- “Is this actually true?” instead of accepting it as fact.

And never give up on goals you set for yourself. This blog is the gateway to a more transparent me. A less guarded me. A vulnerable me. A me that is hopeful for the future. And worthy of being loved.