I’m a city dweller. I grew up in a city. I’ve lived in the suburbs and I’ve lived in the exurbs. Both were enticing. Rolling fields, green spaces, and beautifully manicured homes and lawns. The busy roadways seem a world away All calm. Quiet. Still. I am a city dweller. That’s what I tell myself. With my near-crippling anxiety, the city would seem like the last place I should be. With all its non-stop activity.
I’m standing on the last, narrow step before the sudden drop into the abyss. Or maybe I’ve already fallen. I can’t really tell. And that’s the tricky thing about anxiety. And whatever else might be going on in my head. Some days are okay. Then, like clockwork on the 14th-or-so day, the darkness rolls in. Whatever energy I put into avoiding a full-blown tantrum of angry, emotional outburst is gone. It can’t be contained. Everything