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Bish Where You Been?

Quick life update regarding first quarter. Part One.

I tend to go back and forth with myself.

I’ll write tomorrow, maybe the end of the week, you know what I’ll do it today. Nah next week sounds so much better.

I begin to type


Start again, become flustered, and just say to hell with it. You see, that’s just how my brain works. I become so overwhelmed; I over think everything, wonder who even would have an interest in reading blogs from a chick who has no idea what this thing is called life. Can’t also make a simple decision as to what I’m having for lunch or if I should post a pic to Instagram because I’m worried about the time, day of the week, and the horrible algorithm. You see my life is a massive whirlwind, and I am wired off my high functioning anxiety. I’m so used to feeling overwhelmed that when things are calm, I yearn for the chaos because that is where I find my identity. Being so worked up off of absolutely nothing. Going through the cycle of extreme anxiety, crashing and burning mentally, being so overwhelmed, I end the period in a depressive episode.

Depression is the deep dark sister to my anxiety. I never knew who she was, but I became super close to her towards the end of last year. She decided to stick around and follow me everywhere I went. She was like an annoying sibling who just wouldn’t leave you alone, and the more I tried to ignore her, the louder she got.

I never understood the depths of how anxiety worked and what it consisted of until it was explained to me by my therapist. All of my crying spells, feelings of hopelessness, as if I was a failure, and lack of interest in some of the things I loved stemmed from my anxiety. What’s so crazy about it is the fact that from the outside looking in I appeared to have everything together. I was a graduate student in a loving relationship. I laughed a lot, was social, took cool pictures on social media, some would think I was living the life. But inside I was extremely sad, my perfectionism and need for validation was tearing me apart. This facade that I’ve built slowly begins to crack from the pressures of the unrealistic goals I created for myself. When I finally got to the point where I would share how I was feeling, I quickly began to silence myself. People would disregard my stress, saying things such as “Oh Carrie, you’re not stressed, you’re fine look you’re smiling.”

Becoming burdened and buried under all my emotional debris, I finally decided to break and sit in my sorrow. Not because I wanted to throw a pity party, I understood the only way I could get up and move forward was accepting the now.

How the hell did I get here?

I’ve spent so much of my time functioning with high anxiety that I soon crashed. I shouldn’t be surprised, I mean I’ve experienced this before but not quite like this. This is the first time that I admitted to needing something a little more than therapy. I decided to go to a psychiatrist; of course, it took me some time to accept the fact that I could not heal myself. I needed some extra assistance, I was ashamed, embarrassed, reading those words on the pill bottle reading antidepressants.

Am I crazy? Are people going to think I’m insane? How do I explain this to my family?


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