It’s been a rough week – and quite an unexpected rough week at that. I started out on Sunday night I was like this:

This week is going to be great. I’m going to go to work and then I’m going to come home and write and blog and then watch Game of Thrones with Joel and I’ll finally get the desk arranged and I’ll get work done on Joel’s present and I’ll make a budget and a Skype calendar and things are going to be great!

But by Wednesday night I was this:

“What did you eat for supper?”
“Diazapram.”

My anxiety got the better of me more times than I can count, leaving me so tightly wound that every slight noise or change in my environment basically gave me a heart attack and left me reaching for the wonders of western medicine.

And while I’m feeling better than I have been, I’m still bracing for after shocks.

Sometimes shit gets hard. I’m on a mission though – to get this shit under control. I’ve said that about 600 times in my life. Maybe in this year alone. It’s a work in progress, as always. Anxiety makes me miss depression – when I was depressed, I just didn’t care about anything. Anxiety makes me care ALL THE CARES. And it’s exhausting.

This week will be better – smaller, more manageable, more achievable goals. Being mindful and double-checking my work. This week, I will be Beyonce.

Bey-lieve it.