Wise words from my favorite author… This is an apt description of what my bipolar disorder feels like on a regular basis, and I think it’s kind of lovely/weird/fantastic that I too have considered my anxiety and illness to be a storm, and often use this type of thinking.
I’m always searching for the right words.
For my stories. For my life.
After all, words are the form we give ideas, a way to make the intangible tangible, conceivable, real. Words confess, they admit, they ground.
I’ve always been an anxious person. Neurotic. Hyper-vigilant. I have high walls, struggle with change, emotion, vulnerability. At some point, it tipped. When I get overwhelmed, my body shuts down. I start shaking, in that teeth chattering, heart stuttering, flushed and sick to my stomach way. I try to mask it, to pretend I’m okay, and sometimes that works, and sometimes it gets worse and worse until I’m sitting on a bathroom floor, wishing I could find the plug and pull it.
It’s always been a war, mind versus body, mind over body, body over mind.
For someone who’s pretty good with words, I’ve struggled to find the right ones for this. For…
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