It’s like an internal itch you can’t scratch. My shoulders are stapled to my ears as if bracing for an impact. My jaw clenches, breathing becomes erratic.
Thoughts? Oh, the thoughts! Scads of scenarios and insecurities, worries, overthinking about situations that probably aren’t true and will never happen: the “What ifs.” Because I’m a lady kind of person, they used to call this “hysteria.” Now it is called anxiety.
Anxiety and I are old friends. I’d like for you to say “Hello.” My anxiety has a name; Abbie. A nervous Nelly, nail-biting type, who looks frazzled all the time and mainlines 100 espressos in an hour.Read more on themighty.com