An Exercise in Vulnerability*

I’m going to be real about anxiety for a moment. At least I think it’s anxiety? Who knows.

I’m about to give up the keys to Twitter for a little while and see if that helps my mental health. As you can tell from the previous post, I thought the choice would be made for me. I figured the app would’ve crashed by now. Instead, it’s slowly limping toward its demise, and I need to step away.

Why? Because there’s a part of me that looks to likes and RTs as validation. Then there’s the part of me that gets anxious when I reply to people and they don’t reply back. That part of me asks, “What’s wrong with me? Have they muted me? They don’t like me anymore?” and that goes straight to “Everyone hates me.”

“Everyone hates me” is fertile ground, but I’m going to try to leave it fallow for a while.

And item number 2 on my list is to make myself go find a therapist. Preferably one on my health plan, but we’ll see.

All that to say…IF I truly have offended, then I am sorry. And not in the I’m-sorry-you-were-offended way but rather the my-intent-was-not-to-offend-but-impact-is-more-important-than-intent-and-I-am-trying-to-do-better sort of way.

Mercy. Why anxiety and writers go together when anxiety and being constantly up for review do not, I’ll never know. It is one of life’s mysteries.

Then I need to start a new project. Each time I’m between projects, I’m reminded of this quote from Where’d You Go, Bernadette:

People like you must create. If you don't create, Bernadette, you will become a menace to society.

It me! Let me go create so I’m less of a menace to society.

*Brené Brown promised me that I’d feel better if I were vulnerable, that it would relieve the shame of my, in this case, anxious feelings. I’m not feeling it so far.