That’s what happens when you’re the sensitive type. I guess now they call it anxiety. Whatever you want to call it, it’s never easy living everyday fighting a battle against yourself.
Sensitive people (or people like me with anxiety) drown our feelings in tears because we don’t know any other way to deal with our world. We feel more. We perceive more. We struggle more with our inner turmoil. It’s the way we are and the world just has to deal with it.
And they seem to deal with it in the worst ways possible. Because of the stigma attached to anxiety, no one knows I have it. I can’t bring myself to admit it because everyone passes off anxiety and sensitivity as something intangible. They assume, if they can’t physically see it, it can’t be real. Well, let me tell ya, it’s fucking real and I live it every second of every day.
But these are the same people who call me “the weird girl” or “that fiery chick.” No one has ever taken the time to get to know me well enough to understand what it’s like living in my mind. Instead they would rather just label me “crazy.”
I’m now in my 40s and I still struggle. Every day I silently, secretly struggle. But, because of finding positive ways to help me deal, I’m considered to have high-functioning anxiety. Outwardly, I maintain a nice life, while inside I’m always dealing with this daily battle in the war I call life.