I’m having a difficult time writing this morning. I feel anxiety over what I should be writing about; over not wanting to write about the same thing I wrote about yesterday or the day before; over the truthfulness of my writing; over the fear of the things I write about, and read about, not sticking. Like I’m not actually learning the lessons I think I’m learning. Like I’m not actually changing.
That anxiety becomes more and more difficult to shake. I start to feel it in different parts of my body. Those feelings cue the desperate, and then frantic, searching for thoughts that will keep me afloat. Thoughts that will keep me from sinking deeper into the cold ocean that is anxiety and panic.
I should have a list of those rescue thoughts; those flotation thoughts.
I don’t have to go down with the ship. For I am not the Captain.