A couple months ago I found a box of old journals. I have been writing since I was 17, as per the suggestion of a counselor. Leafing through them I realized that I have been battling this for almost eleven years. I started to panic. If it's really been that long, what's to say it will ever go away? Will I be 37 and still fighting this?
It wasn't the first time I felt like I would never get better. That's been a feeling I've had off and on for a long time. But to get hit with that realization of the actual length of time I've been battling this. It was a whole new wave to that feeling. And with that came all those typical worries. 'Will I be doing this for the rest of my life?' 'Can I really keep going like this?' 'Will I never crawl out?' etc etc.