“Some days I wish I knew what it felt like to be you,” my husband says. He says it with a smile because I’ve gone and done an “Ericka” thing again like panic because I’ve run out of gas only to realize I haven’t actually turned on the car. He means it with love. He means it with purely innocent interest.
A piece I wrote for Black Box Warnings about my life with anxiety and depression. Insert rabid giraffe joke here. There we go. Levity.
I find myself really moved by your honesty. Speechless, and moved.
Thank you. That really means a lot.
From my own experience I can assure you it will get better, but damned if I know why it does. It just does, and that lack of control is terrifying. The brain invading your body? I get that, every October and November for the last 15 years. I’m no help… But know you’re not alone.
I’m stunned. Not in the way that I can’t believe what you wrote, but in what your words have done to me because I’ve had the same things done to me by anxiety, et al. Glad I found your blog. Glad you found me.
Thank you Jennifer. I’m sorry we’ve both experienced something like this but it’s good to have it out in the open. I immediately liked your blog because it seems like we have a lot in common as writers and mothers. Looking forward to reading more!