I had an epiphany two nights ago. I was passive aggressively joking with a friend that I've not seen in a long time, and said, "You don't call, you don't write."
Neither do you.
It's true.
I have acute agoraphobia, GAD, I'm claustrophobic, and my personal favorite, Panic Disorder. Leaving the house is a struggle. I'm nervous all the time. Two nights ago that conversation was at a party, and I stomped around for an hour beforehand telling Diane I was too tired, too stressed, too etc, to go. I went. It was fun. I interacted. I'm exhausted.
On the one hand, people don't talk about mental illness much. And there are people worse off than me. People that can't force themselves to go outside when they really want to just be in bed.
On the other, every single time I open up about my problems, the person I'm talking to relates. Everyone has issues. No one is uniquely whole. And I'm really, not...proud...but something similar, of the life I've made, all told.
The fact that I can even hold down a job impresses me. The fact that this job is working with people, managing people, getting on the executive team, being highly social, makes me, not...happy...but something similar.
But I can't do quite the same with friendships. And that's my lot, and it's okay.
But it's actually getting better. My new meds are just about life changing. Low dosage extended release beta blockers help my body calm down.
Next time...relationships, and how I'm happy to not have "Relationship Goals."
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