My doctor wants to switch my anxiety medication, which ironically gives me an anxiety attack. All I wanted to do was just get my refill of Ativan so I could get on a plane and go, but instead I was met with a discussion. It makes sense, I know. But switching from something you take only when you feel very anxious to something that you take every day (“for generalized anxiety disorder”) makes it real. It’s like, oh hey, you actually have a problem Taylor.

But later I realize this could be a good thing. I start to imagine a life in which I am never (or rarely) anxious. Something I’ve never let myself think of. A life where I’m not constantly aware of the possibility that I could have an attack at any moment. And I try to think about my old life, before I had this label on me, and I can barely remember it. When I was so extroverted that I couldn’t stand being alone at home, and not who I am now where every social activity is carefully calculated beforehand based on my mind.

Then I clean my room.

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