Fifteenth

Dear July,
Yesterday I was talking to Kaitlyn about what it feels like to fight against your own brain.  She described it like trying to open a box with a crowbar. Only the crowbar is inside the box.
This week has been hard. I don’t know why exactly. It’s nothing and lots of things and hardly anything at all. But I’m staring at a crate with a crowbar in it. My brain feels like a rubber band, stretched tight. It’s like there’s a nest of green ants behind my eyes, seething; like the ants are crawling around my stomach and through my lungs and down my fingers, and I’m just waiting for one to bite. I want to be small and low to the ground. I want to lie on the floor of my bathroom with the lights off. Its a hard thing to describe. 
I kind of hate writing about anxiety. I didn’t want these letters to be about that, July. People will read this and worry (sorry mum). I preface everything I say about anxiety with ‘but I’m fine’. I say that because I am ok. I can keep going. And even though today I felt like I was dying, I know that days like this are rare.
But part of me wants these days to be a secret. People will think differently of me if they know that my brain is such a mess. But not talking about it plays into the stigma and I don’t want to do that either. I don’t know, July. 

Today was hard. But I’m ok. I’m pretty good at getting crowbars out of boxes.

Alex x

I’m posting a blog for every day in July. Letters to July was inspired by Emily Diana Ruth.

Further reading

December – home

I spent the first minutes of 2018 on the beach. I’ve never actually spent New Year