mental health, Uncategorized

Maybe, just maybe, I’m not meant to be found in a self help book, in a routine. 

I’ve always been a free spirit. I’ve always been the one to suggest random road trips. Lately, I’ve been forcing myself to try and find the answers in self help books and routines. Maybe that’s not where I’m meant to be found. 

I’ve always called the open road my home. But lately, I’ve had no desire to go out there. Honestly, it scares me now. I’ve become so accustomed to living in my little apartment that I’ve totally forgotten what makes me, me. 

I blame part of it on my ADD medication. It’s taken away my impulses. At least for the most part. And, that’s a good thing. But, maybe I don’t need an impulsive trip. Maybe I need a planned trip. A thought out trip. Or something. 

I blame another part of it on my anxiety. For the past few months I’ve been afraid to do things I once found enjoyable. Suddenly, I’m afraid to go places alone. All the paranoid thoughts began to sound like truth. My sense of adventure, my life, has diminished. 

I’m not saying self help books don’t work. They do. They’ve given me helpful advice. But, I’m a bit unique. I’m not just any regular depressed or anxious person. I have things about me that can not be defined in a book. 

Maybe I’ve been looking in all the wrong places. Maybe I’ve been trying to find myself in the wrong books. Maybe, it’s time for a complete turn around in my recovery program I have created. 

It’s time to think like the real Elizabeth, not this structured, routine, dull, afraid person that I have been. 

Just some early morning thoughts. 



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