You know for a person like me who suffers from anxiety disorder, doing as the title says is easier said than done. I shouldn't say I suffer from anxiety disorder; I haven't been diagnosed by a shrink. I'm gonna say I'm a terribly anxious worrier type person instead.
Ugh, such a rabbit hole, can we get back to the topic?
Okay so as I was saying, I'm like a dog with bone when it comes to anxiety, just worrying it and worrying it and worrying it...whether my issues are legit or not.
So today it hit me, after blowing off work all day and just having some 'me time' that I was doing life wrong. I mean, look at me; I am living my dream life (except that I don't have a horticulture farm which was a completely unrealistic dream considering the total absence of a green thumb that I have). Hell, some things I never thought to dream of; who could have imagined I'd have authored eight books under my own name (actually make that ten, Cinderella by Any Other Name is finished as is a short story in the In Search of Paradise Universe) in my lifetime? Who'd a thought I'd make a living writing books for other people?
Not me.
Yet here I am.
I live in the house. The one I always wanted; yeah it's not mine but it's mine y'know? My son turned eighteen this year. I have managed to grow him to adulthood without irreparably damaging him.
I legit have not searched for new clients since September. They all are looking for me now.
Life is GoodT.
*spits, knocks on wood, throws salt over my shoulder and all other superstitious nonsense*
So why do I wake up worried, spend my days anxious and go to sleep worried? It's such nonsense. Today I just stopped. No actually it started yesterday. I was so tired after my locum at a hospital pharmacy that I stopped at a fast food shop to eat dinner so I could go straight to bed as soon as I reached home. (Yeah at seven pm, what of it?) And she knows me so the cashier asks if I'll have a warm apple juice since there are no cold ones. And I was just like FUCK IT, give me a fanta.
Do you know the last time I drank a fanta?
Yeah, neither do I.
Everywhere people always posting about how bad soda is for you blah blah blah. I grew up drinking fanta. It never made me sick. I stopped because well, peer pressure.
Fuck peer pressure.
Fuck worrying about mythical health problems I might get.
Imma enjoy my fanta.
I didn't finish it because well, sugar is not my friend these days but I enjoyed it. I even enjoyed the little sore throat I got afterwards because Freedom bitches!
Anyways so this morning I woke up with that anxious "OhgodIhavesomuchworktodowillIfinisitontimeImalreadylate" mantra going through my head coupled with "shitIneedtofinisthisgotbillstopay" that accompanies it. But I was still reeling from the weekend. So I said, hey, let me take some time to just be. I'll get back to work. But first, breathe.
And I did.
Imagine the world didn't end.
Yeah, mind boggling, I know.
But I really have to get back to work now; the difference is, I'm looking forward to it. I love writing, I love stories. I get to write stories for a living. Imma enjoy it.
And for you other writers who seem to live under the illusion that you HAVE to think your writing sucks in order to be a "legitimate" writer; and also you have to post about how much you suck on social media...man, look...if that is supposed to get me interested in your work, it doesn't. If you don't love what you write, why should I?
I love my stories. I think they're epic. I think they convey important messages without being weighed down by too much seriousness. Average Joe can enjoy them and they would still make her think. You have to be careful of that negative self talk. If you tell yourself you suck enough times, you start to believe that shit.
It's up to you if you want to be Cardi B or Azaelia Banks.
Rihanna isn't my fave just because of the songs...when it's 3am and I'm flagging, I tell myself that Rihanna's day isn't over yet either and she's much richer than me. Whatever you need to tell yourself to keep going.
Anyways, for real, gotta get to work.
The rent is always muh'fuckin due.
Ugh, such a rabbit hole, can we get back to the topic?
Okay so as I was saying, I'm like a dog with bone when it comes to anxiety, just worrying it and worrying it and worrying it...whether my issues are legit or not.
Not me.
Yet here I am.
I live in the house. The one I always wanted; yeah it's not mine but it's mine y'know? My son turned eighteen this year. I have managed to grow him to adulthood without irreparably damaging him.
I legit have not searched for new clients since September. They all are looking for me now.
Life is GoodT.
*spits, knocks on wood, throws salt over my shoulder and all other superstitious nonsense*
Do you know the last time I drank a fanta?
Yeah, neither do I.
Everywhere people always posting about how bad soda is for you blah blah blah. I grew up drinking fanta. It never made me sick. I stopped because well, peer pressure.
Fuck peer pressure.
Fuck worrying about mythical health problems I might get.
Imma enjoy my fanta.
I didn't finish it because well, sugar is not my friend these days but I enjoyed it. I even enjoyed the little sore throat I got afterwards because Freedom bitches!
And I did.
Imagine the world didn't end.
Yeah, mind boggling, I know.
But I really have to get back to work now; the difference is, I'm looking forward to it. I love writing, I love stories. I get to write stories for a living. Imma enjoy it.
And for you other writers who seem to live under the illusion that you HAVE to think your writing sucks in order to be a "legitimate" writer; and also you have to post about how much you suck on social media...man, look...if that is supposed to get me interested in your work, it doesn't. If you don't love what you write, why should I?
I love my stories. I think they're epic. I think they convey important messages without being weighed down by too much seriousness. Average Joe can enjoy them and they would still make her think. You have to be careful of that negative self talk. If you tell yourself you suck enough times, you start to believe that shit.
It's up to you if you want to be Cardi B or Azaelia Banks.
Rihanna isn't my fave just because of the songs...when it's 3am and I'm flagging, I tell myself that Rihanna's day isn't over yet either and she's much richer than me. Whatever you need to tell yourself to keep going.
Anyways, for real, gotta get to work.
The rent is always muh'fuckin due.
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