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it always feels like i'm telling myself to wait a little bit longer: 'just hang on—you're so close to the point where you can relax. move into the bigger apartment. focus on this part of you now. move up. you'll be able to spread out, soon. you'll be safer, soon.' i'm still tense, all the time; i know you told me about those exercises, but if i'm being honest with you, honey, i've been pretty sedentary for the better part of two years, and it makes me nervous. for my health, you know.
i know, i know. just a couple more months. once i'm settled with my job. my body just feels out of whack, all the time. i feel my neck muscles strangling me; i know it's my anxiety. i do as the therapist said: i drop my arms by my side. i echo to myself, 'nothing is wrong with you, it's muscular. nothing is wrong with you.'
my sleeping habits? i don't know—i get like, seven hours a night. my mattress is indeed a bit cheap. it needs to be upgraded. i haven't been sleeping well, and, to be honest, i'm grinding my teeth—
okay, yes, i'm sorry. i'm not lying to you whenever i'm not saying 'to be honest with you.'
where was i? i'm grinding my teeth; you know i chipped my tooth last winter? my front tooth. it was only a sliver. but i did indeed. it freaked me out a bit. oh, i have it sorted now. i have a night guard and everything. but thank you, i appreciate your concern.
i feel as though i'm cocooning; is that a trauma response? to the mess outside, you think? i just don't feel like seeing other people; it all feels like too much effort. and the risk! tsk, tsk; everyone is very risk averse lately (including myself, i'm afraid).
people die being too much inside, right? my goodness. we should go to the park tomorrow. stretch our legs. i hear blood clots are common if you sit too much. what do you say? i'm sorry, i'm talking too much; i just haven't really talked about this. and everything in the news is bad news, and now doomscrolling is a thing. i'm just...
what's going on with you lately?