I can’t sleep, I can’t think. I am sitting in my Assassin’s creed dressing gown at 12:13 am and attempting to write the anxiety out of me.

It’s an awful thing that has just recently been given a name. Before that, I believed that it was entirely normal to feel this level of crushing self-doubt and to berate oneself for trying/doing anything outside of the comfort zone, which relies upon my utter and complete compliance to maintain itself.

Today I was chased around my house by myself. Whilst trying to write a poetry review for a website editing task. My brain decided to rear its ugly grey neurons and tear holes in everything I wrote.

  • I can’t believe you decided to do this
  • You’re going to let everyone down
  • God, look at you. You can’t even write a fucking review
  • You’re pathetic
  • I can’t do this
  • I should cancel
  • I’m utterly useless

Anxiety disorder is the bane of my existence and has been for almost all of my life. Having controlled other issues that I’d rather not own, this one refuses to fuck off and leave me alone. And so I’m left sitting in a cold living room in the middle of the night, fighting off my overly amorous cat, and trying desperately to ignore the voice in my head that treats me like utter shit.

I started writing the poetry review/article after a brief bit of research, I didn’t get far before my bully brain sent me hiding to the kitchen to wash up.  Later I ‘needed’ coffee before I could possibly continue. Then it was the laundry that had to be done.

I may as well just accept that I’m trying to hide from myself, build a towel fort and take refuge in that until I’ve completely destroyed my future and career all in one go.

I do avoid, hide and run away.  More and more, however, I’ve been pushing through and keeping on keeping on.

My eldest girl suffers from anxiety and seeing her struggle with it has been devastating. It also means that I better pull up my big girl pants and show her how to fight the good fight. Until I just can’t do it anymore.

Most days are a battle, and often I can’t deliver the positivity goods. I give in like an Asda delivery van that has broken SAT-NAV and wants to go home early. I do nothing, watch TV or call myself names for being so weak (I can’t win you see), only to get up the next day and do it all again.

Since I’m awake, I may as well get on with getting on…