Last year at this time, my depression was so awful, getting out of bed terrified me.

This morning, I woke up and came downstairs without any fear.

Ah, but anxiety! That filthy twerp will be my lifelong companion, I’m afraid.

This is for you, Owen.

I don’t really understand how people can become addicted to anti-anxiety medications. (Although I know that many people are, no disrespect here. We are all wired differently.)

If I take over my daily dosage of Klonopin (I did that once), I fall into a deep sleep. Fun! My usual dose doesn’t really make me feel all that different. I’m still full of nerves, worried about every little fart.

Yesterday was a rather bad anxiety day. My dog has a stomachache, she’s been puking and we can’t afford to take her to the vet. My mom is sick, which I can’t elaborate on because she reads my blog.

My daughter was paranoid that her friend didn’t like her anymore. (He does.) We were waiting to hear back from the bug guy, who finally told us to wait a couple of weeks for him to come out, that the gel we bought would probably work well enough to kill off any stray roaches that got away from the TV. (I hope so, because we really don’t have the cheddar to pay him, either.)

Fuck you, I’m awesome!

My daughter and I made potato salad together. That was a nice distraction from the seemingly never-ending barrage of anxiety, if only for a short while.

I had so many other things that I could have done, but I didn’t do anything because I was too anxious to concentrate.

Chronic anxiety is no laughing matter. In fact, it sucks monkey balls.

I’ve had anxiety attacks since I was an extremely young girl, so you would think that I would be used to it. As if!

Deep breath in. Deep breath out.

You do the Hokey Pokey and you shake yourself about.

What exactly is life all about?