I’m forcing myself to go out today. I’m writing this in the car as Nick drives. I don’t want to go. I have comfy pants and the lulling boredom to keep me at home. Mostly I’m exhausted from running at such a high level of anxiety all week. The glare of the sun and noise of the morning traffic grates my nerves raw. But I’m going. First, breakfast with Nick at Billy’s, then grocery shopping.
Sometimes with anxiety I just have to decide to go out. Anywhere. Just not stay at home listening to my brain try to grind through my feelings. I can’t afford to sit alone too often.
So I’m going out despite how painful it feels, despite how tired I am, despite how much I’d rather be at home. Part of healing is going out and living, just doing normal stuff. Doing this won’t fix my mental illness but it almost always makes me feel better.