The Bloody Doors Off

I’m at war with myself. Desperately trying not to sabotage my life. Fighting against what I want to do, with reasons that are, at best, suspect. The little things are frustrating me; the big ticket items have me scared to death.

I’m allowed to be happy. I remind myself of this in the quiet moments. I’m allowed to adult, as much as it scares me sometimes. But I worry that I won’t measure up. I didn’t before, so why would now be different, says the critical inner voice.

Stupid. Stupid stupid.

I only use this blog when I’m in fight or flight mode. Never for the good times. Wouldn’t it be nice to (re)read a post about the weekend spend in Stratford? Of course it would, that should go without saying.

And things are still terrific, at least in that area of my life. I’m just afraid to tell my anxiety that it just might be okay to exhale.