I'm Still Breathing...Have No Fear

I don't know what it's like in other countries, but in England when you're in hospital, waiting, without knowing quite what will happen, is the majority of how you spend your day. If you're an outpatient you check in and are on a list somewhere. If you know who your surgeon or consultant is you might be lucky and catch a glimpse of this lesser-spotted member of the medical species, but that's no guarantee they'll be seeing you. Checking into hospital last night I knew I wouldn't see my doctor till he next day.

I did know that I'd be checked in by a doctor, a nurse, a pharmacist and an anaesthetist, all asking the same questions and variously putting in a cannula, giving me a gown, reminding me about nil by mouth etc. At this point I'm not in pain so there's no rush. It's when I start to expect the surgery to happen and there are often claims that what I've been told is different to their understanding: "Your surgeon said you'd be next. But we have you down as number three." 

Short of calling my surgeon's secretary or making better friends with surgery schedulers or A&E I've no clue as to how to resolve this and concentrate in the main in just staying put and as calm as I can, trying not to believe too hard that it will happen - to avoid disappointment - and trying not to believe too hard that it will - at any minute - lest I am caught unprepared. An unsent text to Mat, not finishing this post (in case it's the last one). Not done.

I'm in hospital again. This time, not for anything to do with depression or mental health, but because it appears that the quite miraculous job that my surgeon Mr Laban did to save me and my back a year and a few months ago has worked a treat, and the screws in my spine have done their job and that my back is now healed enough for the screws to be taken out.

So here I am, in a small room where I can see south London outside of my bedroom window, waiting, just as I said, for my drip to be hung, for my surgical stockings to be brought and put on my legs to make them look as unattractive as possible whilst hopefully preventing clotting and DVT, and any hope of bein featured in Stylist magazine.

I had an amusing baptism of fire to the hospital on arrival last night around 8 PM, when being introduced to my private room (I am here as a private patient this time in the hope that it means that the procedure will go ahead on that date part, rather than the risk of being sent home possibly more than once which would negatively affect my mental health by increasing my anxiety about what is already a simple-but-dangerous operation). I found when I went to go to the toilet that it was already occupied... By a suddenly mortified nurse or orderly who, on being discovered, could not even look me in the face but eyes to the floor shuffled, stooped, at pace, out of my room and back into the anonymity of the hospital corridor. Something tells me that nurses are not meant to do this sort of thing!

A super-stylish surgical stocking tantalisingly emerged

Being here is a sign of the future, a sign that perhaps, after all the difficulties caused by the accident, this is the last step to putting it all behind me, then moving forwards, hopefully literally, since of course this operation is not without its risks.

(Image credit: theemotionmachine.com)

I do want the future to come, even on my darkest days I believe in the future. I believe that good things are going to come to and from me and others, the people that I care about so much. It's progress from the days that I can still remember, although perhaps not as clearly as when I am experiencing those days, when I feel that everything is hopeless, because I am hopeless, broken, useless, no good to anyone. Thankfully today is not one of those days.

Yesterday I had the most fantastic day off from work, spending the entire day at Maudsley Learning (@maudslearn) in Denmark Hill to speak several times during their #whymentalhealthmattets about my personal experiences of depression and mental health problems and my beliefs and perspective on the things that have helped me continue to work, and continued to make progress in my career, despite the fact that my depression became so severe in 2014 and still continues to bother me much more than I thought it might after such a lot of therapy and medication. I was moved by how many people (many from HR, recognising that this is a relatively new area but a wide-reaching one) have made the effort to attend from their various companies. Of course, I believe that everyone should be taking an interest in this because mental health and physical health are indivisible and whatever health needs are we should have support from our organisations.

It's so rewarding to speak openly about what my experiences of depression, support, stigma, progress and life have been when it follows with people telling me either something of their own story or telling me that my story has helped them to understand a little bit more about these conditions the people are still so afraid to talk about or think that they might have themselves – even mild stress.

Why Mental Health Matters Conference 2016

We still have such a long way to go to understand these mysterious health conditions relating to our minds. Sometimes I do feel like a bit of a science experiment, knowing that I've been on six different types of antidepressants and I've had counselling many times. I suppose that just makes me a work in progress, which is what we all are. I'm not done, I'm still learning, learning to walk, learning to fall, learning to do things well, and learning to fail and fail better as Samuel Beckett said.

I've just seen the anaesthetist, so all being well I'll be off to surgery soon to have the screws taken out of my back. (I had spinal fusion surgery in October 14 after a minor fall caused a major fracture issue.) There were many complications in the last surgery, but I have to be optimistic that that won't be the case this time. The future, I'm hoping, is something that I'll have a chance to be a part of, and hopefully a part of as a well person without further physical complications (I'm sort of signed up and resigned to my continuing mental health management, so it would just be nice to know that despite the accident I'm okay to one extent!). 

(image credit: Pinterest)

However, at this time is one always reflects on the fact that something could go wrong and that I might lose the privilege of speaking out and saying something to the world that is just mine, as I have now in this blog for the last five years. For that reason then I'm posting this, so that all being well I will be writing a follow-up post soon. I'm very afraid, but trying not to be, telling myself not to be afraid, telling my husband and mum the same thing. Telling myself I'm still breathing. Whatever happens I really believe that we need to take care of each other and take care of ourselves.

Let's keep talking, shall we? Talking leads to openness which leads to us all being less afraid, which leads to more openness, and to the start of understanding. I'll see you soon for another conversation. Love to you all. Xxx

Guest Post: Juggling - the Fine Line Between Working & Mental Health

I am so pleased to welcome +Claire Robinson-Ayres (BrizzleLass)  to my blog for the first ever guest post! 

http://brizzlelass.co.uk/

Claire writes about her experiences working alongside life-long mental illness, with an eventual diagnosis of bipolar. When I read this I am reminded of how strong, resourceful and creative many sufferers of mental illness are. Even though her health makes working extremely hard, Claire still holds on to her ambition and drive. Thank you Claire, for this inspiring story. +BrizzleLass Blog 

I first started showing signs of problems with my mental health as a young child, when I was diagnosed with depression and emotional instability at just nine years old. Being part of the mental health system was nothing new to me, and if anything it made me all the more determined to be 'normal' and to show everyone I could be successful and I did, to the detriment of my mental health.

I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder when I was 25, by which time I had forged a career in marketing within professional services, most prominently in the legal sector. I worked hard at my career while juggling my illness for several years. In the end I left professional services as it was far too stressful and worked part time in online marketing; but even that wasn't enough to stop my illness taking over, especially when a mystery physical problem appeared which took a few years for doctors to diagnose and resolve.

I was forced out of my job in 2013

After being forced out of my job in 2013 I decided to set up as self-employed and start managing my workload more effectively. I had some great contacts from my 15 years of experience. I started contacting people, and the work slowly started coming in. I managed to get enough work to keep me busy 2-3 days a week, which was just what I had hoped for.

I had a great rapport with my clients and they appreciated having someone who understood social media algorithms and could put together plans to utilise their marketing budgets effectively. I spent my time writing social media posts, blogs, rewriting blog content, sorting out SEO, and generally doing the kind of marketing I really enjoy. I made my clients happy, made them money and all was good.

Then hypomania started, I went from working 2-3 days a week to working 18-20 hours a day, seven days a week. Now for a start I didn't have near enough work for this, but I managed to do it anyway, I would sit at my kitchen table, bent over my laptop working like my life depended on it, I would just be typing away, correcting things, rewriting posts, pages, changing spreadsheets, reformatting invoices. You name it I found it to do. 

This spectacular demonstration of hypomanic obsession went on for four months, at which time I crashed into the deepest depression I've ever been in. In my entire life, through all the depressions I've ever known nothing has been like this. In the space of a week my business folded and I was bankrupt.

As if that wasn't bad enough I tried to take my life for the first of six times that year, I was at the beginning of what was to become the year from hell and it was only April! Later I joked that at least I lined my breakdown up with the financial year for HMRC!

I went from always being the person who worked, and found a way through to having no job, no business, no savings, no money. For the first time in my life I had to turn to DWP; it was the most humiliating process of my life (and bankruptcy was very humiliating)! I've been on these benefits just over a year now and to this day I hate them, I feel sad that my life reached a point where I became that sick. 

I work really hard with the team that helps with my mental health care, and I have a clear goal of being able to work again in the future. But I also need to reach a point where I am stable. This is something I have never been and it is an issue my mental health team are helping me deal with. Between medication and therapy we will get there.

I'm not good at doing the 'sick' thing though. I can't just fill my days with nothingness. I'm a born worker-bee. So I started blogging again. I now write about mental health, I'm trying to be an advocate, to speak out and encourage others to. The more people speak of their experiences honestly the less 'hidden' it will be.

I also review books: reading gives my mind peace; it calms the 'voices' I hear and regardless of whether I'm depressed or manic I get some time out. Writing is also very therapeutic to me so finding different ways to write has helped immensely.

"I also review books: reading gives my mind peace"

I have a daily to-do list, which contains all the daily basics for when I'm depressed and struggle to even get out of bed, so an achievement will be ticking off things such as: shower, eat breakfast, make lunch, clean teeth, go outside. On more normal days, the idea is to do more interesting things on the list like writing, or walking, making sure housework is done. When I'm hypomanic I need to make sure I don't go overboard and so must do no more than is on that list. For example, I have a tendency to go out for a short walk and come home 5 hours later so I will set a timer and that will tell me to turn and go home regardless of how much I want to continue!

My life hasn't quite turned out how I planned: I thought I would be a company director by now. But that wasn't meant to be. Instead I've discovered I'm immensely creative. Words come to me when I start writing and I'm using that gift to raise awareness. I will go back to work but what I will do exactly I don't know.

I do know that I won't let Bipolar beat me!

Please do come and follow me at my blog BrizzleLass.co.uk, on Twitter @BrizzleLass, or on Facebook see BrizzleLass Blog.

R-E-S-P-E-C-T Let's Talk About Mental Health - Comfortably

I cannot believe it has only been five days since I wrote my manic Monday post. I am feeling distinctly odd after three consecutive nights of very little sleep at all, trouble even with getting to sleep, as well as my old favourite - trouble staying asleep - which is my biggest problem.

I expect attending the judging panel for @womenoffuture (Women of the Future awards) this morning did not induce additional drowsiness! I was so excited to have the opportunity to talk about mental health and the need to end the stigma around this widely experienced and more widely misunderstood category of illnesses. I also felt tremendously grateful to be in a position to speak about it: mental health for me is one of our most critical health issues in this country and globally.

It continues to become more and more apparent that mental illness does not discriminate. Speaking today to the judges I remarked upon this. There is not one group of people I can think of - whether we think about gender, age, ethnicity, sexual orientation, nationality, lifestyle, or life, in fact - where mental illness is not present. We may have 1 in 4 people with a mental illness in the UK, but that means that so very many more people are affected by their connections to those 1 in 4. Let's think of the mothers and fathers, the wives and husbands, the children, friends, work colleagues, medical professionals and strangers who are interacting every day with those 1 in 4. We are living in a world of tremendous pressure and challenge. I would be very surprised if many people at all were completely free of connection to someone with a mental illness (themselves or others).

The paradox is that while mental illness is everywhere, silence about it is also everywhere more often than not. We still do not talk about mental health comfortably. I try to, with my known background in this area serving as an "easy chair" to slide into for this discussion, but others who are speaking of their illnesses or struggles for the first time cannot gauge the reaction of others as there are so few precedents; cannot guarantee that when they take that huge step, that leap, risking so much, while so ill, to be honest about a part of them that is unwell and needs support, that they will get that support. They might not even receive acknowledgement, let alone respect and help.

The judges asked me what I would do if I won - what I thought needed to happen - to improve things. For me, it isn't about providing support mechanisms in the work place or better NHS care (although both of these things are absolutely critical and the latter is in dire need of help, with so many people excluded from care as they do not qualify for treatment based on basic statistics. For example, did you know that if you had an eating disorder and presented with a BMI of 17.1 (i.e. .9 points below the lowest 'healthy' weight for a height of about 5'5") that you would be turned away from A&E (the ER) and asked to return when your BMI had dropped further. You would not be deemed sick enough to receive care. "Please lose more weight." = "Please get sicker, and then maybe we can help you.") 

This is what I said needed to happen, and what my focus for the next three years will be: "We need to make it normal for people to talk about their mental health." 

Why did I say this? 

Imagine if you had a very unpleasant spot on your face. You can use concealer to hide it, sure, but at the end of the day, you're very aware of a throbbing, red, sore, mass on your face that you know you'd far rather would disappear, and you're pretty sure everyone has noticed. But if you tell people about it, you're more likely to get empathy and shared stories (and recommendations of nuclear strength Clearasil), as well as perhaps the odd puerile cry of "That's gross" than have people fall silent, look down, say "Oh," and nothing more. Say nothing. Walk away.

Imagine if you could walk into the office, and on the second (or third) round of 'How are you?'s (because we know that the first is a saying hello, and the second might be a reflex action from the first) that you could say, "I'm feeling quite anxious today, so I didn't sleep that well" or "I'm feeling quite unwell mentally. I think I need to take it a bit easy today to try to prevent things getting worse." The latter statement makes perfect sense to me: you're not feeling well, and you've got to work / go to school / attend your child's school play / go and run errands. Therefore you see how you can reduce your 'to-do' list for the day so that hopefully those sniffles or early symptoms don't turn into flu (or, worse, man flu. Hor.ror.). And so your sick feeling isn't exacerbated by excessive travel. 

Why is it, then, that we so rarely hear people say anything about their mental health? Why is 'presenteeism' (which is where people show up to work with a mental illness (or any other kind of illness) but pretend that they're fine when really they are not and probably shouldn't be at work) so prevalent in our world? Why do you so rarely hear people say that they are off sick "because of depression", rather than because of a cold, flu (man flu!), food poisoning, tonsilitis, etc? 

I think the answer is, because hardly anyone says that. Still.

People don't say "I'm feeling depressed today" / "I'm feeling manic today and can't concentrate" / "I need to sleep today because my anxiety kept me up all night". People don't say it, so people aren't used to hearing it spoken of. And so people assume they can't say it themselves. They assume it's not an acceptable statement to make, and not a "good enough" reason to be absent from work.

We do - desperately- need to help people get the support that they need, but if they can't talk about it in the first place the likely outcome is that they won't seek help. They won't feel it's important/ a valid illness. And before that, they will not feel they can even mention it. 

We know that men struggle more than women to even voice struggles with stress, anxiety, depression and so on. And not talking about this can be - literally - deadly. The number one cause of death among men aged 20-34 is suicide. And this could so often have been prevented by better comfort levels for saying: "I feel very anxious." "I need help." "I am not okay." 

Gender / other factors aside, the bottom line is that people really feel they cannot talk about their struggles with mental health (even with stress). They feel ashamed, weak, less than. Like they mean nothing. 

This is so wrong. We all matter and we all deserve respect, courtesy, kindness and care - for ourselves and others. If we could change this situation and make talking about our mental health as easy as discussing a nasty spot or, say, a broken arm, shingles, or flu, this would mean that our serious and debilitating illnesses would not be worsened by the massive shame we would associate with having them. I personally have berated myself, hated myself, shamed myself and been disgusted with myself for being ill with depression. Why? Why is my illness so shameful? 

It isn't.

If I had not been so ashamed I firmly believe I would never have become so ill. I know that because being honest with my team is the same as making me feel instantly lighter. I haven't had to pretend I'm fine when I'm not, which in the past twenty years at school, university, in my jobs to date, I have done, and which has made me feel more ill: not just sick, but sickened by myself, by my sickness.

So that is where I would start. With more conversations until mental health conversations are "normal". Until people feel they can say, "Today I'm depressed." "Today I'm anxious." "I need help please." "I need to take a day or two off." And I can't wait to get that conversation going again any chance I get, and definitely at the Women of the Future summit in October. In the meantime, let's talk about mental illness and mental health. We all have mental health. Let's make it easier to make time to talk about it. Please help by starting your own conversations.

You Make Me Sick: My Week of Anxiety

This week has been distorted with a weird whirl of media because of public appearances (even though they were staged, pre-recorded, pre-written etc. weeks ahead of broadcasting / publication). Media distorts things, whereas the reality is very different. Tuesday and Wednesday were bizarre, as I was tagged on Facebook appearing on the BBC without knowing anything was going to be broadcast that day, and being published in Metro.co.uk writing a light-hearted piece about anxiety.

Metro piece - a lighter look at Anxiety

Of course, as I should have realised, Anxiety likes to have the last word, horrid sarcastic words that sting and endure. Anxiety showed up with bells on for the rest of the last week. I’m still trying to ask it, as nicely as I can, to get the hell out of town.

Talking about depression while pretty ill with it, on BBC London

So in case you read my Metro blog and thought I have only a humorous view of anxiety, that’s not true (would that I could see it from just that perspective, would that it never got any worse than the quirky behaviours I mentioned in that piece). There are many more serious things that come out of an anxiety condition. I will never stop making fun of myself for my quirky traits stemming from anxiety, but I will also take seriously the symptoms that debilitate me and that I must address if I am to have a chance at handling this condition in the longer term.

Tuesday 1^st September

I smiled when I heard colleagues in the elevator already exclaiming pressure over too many activities and an overextended "to do" list for a four day week. I had been careful with my planning and thought I could handle it. Anxiety doesn't care about my good diary management, though, it prefers when I over book myself to turn up unannounced.

I suppose I am only providing it with good reason to show up at those times. It's when I've made every effort to plan my week sensibly, though, that it is most annoying to experience. And despite making fun of my experiences of anxiety in my blog for Metro this week, and my firm belief that it's good for me to be able to laugh at the silly things I do because I suffer from anxiety (and, as I've said before, my medication escitalopram happens to affect me with anxiety as a side effect. Great). I'm changing to a new type of medication - which will be the sixth anti-depressant I've tried in 15 years. Hey, at least I still have new ones to try!)

For the very reason that today - Sunday - I'm still feeling pretty anxious and ill - I've written a blog that again is fragmented, because I can't calm down or focus long enough to feel able to write something consistent. What I can do is present something that is true - the peaks and troughs (panics and peaceful moments) of how a week with anxiety has been, for me.

These all resonate for me. It's amazing how physical the body's repsonse to anxiety is.

I can understand the sense of these repsonses in a situation of real danger. But attending a social event or a meeting? These symptoms in these situations are debilitating and (literally and figuratively) painful.

Friday 4^th September

Although I ate a salad for lunch today it may as well have been uncooked pastry or carelessly mixed cement, as far as my body is concerned. In my chest, among my main arteries and the networks of veins connecting my rapidly beating heart to the rest of me is a cold, glutinous congealing mass of something sticky that has got in there and won't budge. It nauseates me to the point where I push random fingers into my chest to try to find it and remove it; it won't go. I am breathing in and out slowly and deeply but still it doesn't move. It isn't digestible but makes me try to remove it through swallowing, gulping again and again without success. It isn't expiring with my outward breath. It is so constant that I hardly wonder why a couple of years ago I barely noticed it was there every day. This is one physical manifestation of what my anxiety feels like.

I times I bruise my chest by pushing at it trying

to shift what feels like a hard lump inside

I'm one of the lucky ones who isn't anxious all the time. In my past life living alone in New York in a very pressurised and stressful job, as I realised today when I felt the physical symptoms described above, and realised it had been at least three days without a let up.

This happens to me again and again, so I have

 to step in and stop it until I unravel completely

The worst time this happened was at my job interview for KPMG. I was really, really ill at the time with depression / anxiety. I have always made the effort to ignore my anxiety and go for things anyway (I suppose, that cliche "Feel the fear and do it anyway" applies perfectly to one of the ways that I operate (see below - overcompensate), It was in the very first exercise that I was presenting back to a large panel at my assessment centre when I needed to refer to the consulting firm in a 'mock client proposal pitch' that the word "Del- " (Deloitte) slipped out of my mouth in my mock-confident pitch patter. Even though the director observing said, "We'll pretend we didn't hear that", I was absolutely horrified. 

Me at my interview in reality. 

How I presented myself at interview. 

Hiding behind a suit and a smile

Every physical response - the fight or flight mechanism in its rawest form - suddenly invaded my body and overwhelmed me. I felt dreadfully sick and wanted to leave immediately, but it was only 10am and the first part of a whole-day interview. I couldn't leave. I had to stay. My brain does not work properly in a period of intense anxiety. My brain needed to work for me to get the job. Worry. Stress. Sweat. Nausea. Trying to ignore all of these and carry on through other case studies, partner interviews, even through 'lunch'. I have no idea how I got the job given how unwell I was. I did go back for a final interview another day, and at that point I was not in the primal phase of panic, thank goodness.

I now try to deploy the measures that I've learned can help of course. I do breathe deeply because at least I can reassure myself that there are genuine physical and mental benefits to this, even if it doesn't remove or lessen my anxiety: I know rationally that I'm supplying my brain with oxygen, which means that I am giving myself the best chance of being able to think and operate even though I feel physically so unwell.

I do practise mindfulness, which means I put my brain to work focusing on things other than the physical feeling of anxiety. It's a distracting technique that requires effort and a discourse with my brain where I ask it to pay attention to a single thing at my command, and politely wave or tap it in the shoulder when it drifts off to thinking about the fact that I need to send off the proposal tomorrow, that I need to go for a run, to the bank, to get the car through its MOT and buy more loo roll and answer my emails and update my time sheet and so on and on and on.

It is hard for me to practise mindfulness lying down without falling asleep- largely because if I do manage to get my mind to focus on some one thing then my brain has a chance to sense my body's total exhaustion and takes advantage of the time to shut down and rest. I have to try to sit up, and then I struggle so much to keep my mind on one thing, even for ten minutes. In anxiety I find my mind rushes here and there and everywhere but on the body scan or shape to which I'm meant to be paying attention.

Also I know mindfulness is what I should be doing, but mid-anxiety I find I often feel overwhelmed and that in adding mindfulness to my list of things to do I will cope even less well with an even longer list of expectations.

However, “I should I should I should” isn't helpful. I need to be well. I need to look after myself. I need to provide some comfort and support to myself.

Saturday 5^th September

I am now sitting here on Saturday evening wishing today had been what I thought it might be: an anxiety-free day. I’m not working; I haven’t had to spend ages cleaning the house or doing other admin chores; I even went to have my hair cut (which is usually enjoyable not stressful since I see the same person each time). Unfortunately it hasn’t worked out that way, and the physical nausea of my anxiety, my shakiness, my racing thoughts, and every other symptom, are still with me to quite a significant degree.

What else do I do when I'm anxious? Panic. It is not an exaggeration to say that it affects the brain in the same way as if there were a genuine fire, an attack or another calamity.

We are programmed to respond primitively in these situations and what that means is a release of adrenaline and cortisol to the brain. This allows us to flee or fight- giving us a spur of energy and stamina for a period of time. What happens to me is that this reaction occurs when I am in a variety of situations where this is completely unhelpful. In place of the rational person who can make decisions and lead teams, organise the house sale, my career, my blog and volunteering, among other things, appears a vastly debilitated version of myself, paralysed by fear and stress to the point where rational thought is almost impossible and the ability to do anything other than flee (whether from the office or under the duvet or whatever) is massively limited.

It repeats and repeats and repeats unless I work at fighting it. 

Unfortunately if I'm already exhausted by it it feels an impossible task.

I have to soothe myself first. Breathe, rest, walk, eat, take a moment. I can’t do anything until that’s done. When it is, that’s when I can do is split things up into manageable chunks. Maybe one small thing from the to-do list. The one thing I can do. Then the next. Then the next.

Sometimes it's more like 25% calm. At that point I could potentially achieve something.

Beforehand, nothing's going to happen unless I bring my anxiety levels below 80%

I do these when the countering, healthy behaviours I know are better but which are just too bloody hard to do at times. The closest I come to helping myself when I’m really panicking is – at best - to climb into bed and shut out everything that is causing me such stress and worry.

Also, no caffeine. I have caffeine once in a while, but 

any more than once a month or so and it negatively affects my mental state

I’m trying to learn to do this in advance of anxiety reaching its full force. I know that I am prone to pushing myself so hard in many directions that anxiety can paralyse me. I have to try to plan ahead so that I’m less likely to have an anxiety attack with the above, with a balance between work, life and rest, with the right amount of exercise (not too little, not too much).  

Sunday 6^th September

I made it to today. Doing the right things today were: 

1. Going for a run and loving seeing the deer. (Exercise also helps digestion, raises my endorphin levels, uses up some of that nervous energy, and gets me out into the fresh air to breathe.) 
2. Eating lunch with my husband. Burgers. Chips. Chat. 
3. Having a rest: this is controversial (as sleeping during the day can disrupt sleep at night), but since I cannot catch up on tiredness at any point in the day during the week, it's a real luxury for me to be able to lie down and read, watch a film or listen to a podcast without the need to go back to my calendar and prep for the next meeting.

Bushy Park today. It was glorious, and I'm happy I made it out

 and won a small victory over my anxiety

On the other hand, the horrid lump in my chest is still there. I'm trying not to worry about it! I'm still breathing. I'm still here. Small victories, even if the war with anxiety isn't over.