From the outside it’s easy to think that somebody has got it all figured out. Because my hair is curled and my cheeks are intentionally flushed – I must not have a care in the world. As if it were expected from my demons to be worn like a scarlet letter pinned to my chest – and they assume if you cannot see it, then it’s not really there. As if pain does not exist unless you’re bleeding or slung in a cast or staggering with a limp. But sometimes, the most painful demons are the ones they can’t even see.
So we learn how to smile, how to grin, and bear it. Because, nobody likes to talk about the tough stuff… Hell, I don’t like to talk about the tough stuff.
I have anxiety.