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I’ve stopped blogging regularly and I know I shouldn’t because when I stop blogging I stop talking. But there’s a long list of reasons in my head for not blogging – usually something to do with being rubbish and wanting to live in a hole. Of course, I’ve got myself in a bit of a circle now, because the less I blog the more I want to blog but the less I want to blog because the less I blog the worse I am at blogging. There’s all the thoughts and all the feelings but they’re daft and useless and pointless.

I really have realised this week how idiotic I am and how crucial communication is for me. I had two weeks off work and worried my way through them. Christmas was difficult (and became more so after I wrote that post) and there has been other stuff but even so, I have worried so much that I rarely sleep for longer than an hour at a time now. I wake up in absolute panic, I hate the dark. What is it about the dark that makes everything so much BIGGER? But because I feel so stupid for worrying like I do, I don’t say anything. A couple of nights ago, in the wee hours, hubby happened to be awake too and I asked him to put his arms around me to help me feel safe. I can’t do that every time I wake up scared. 1) it wouldn’t be fair, and 2) it wouldn’t be possible – I’ve never known anyone to sleep as heavily as he does.

One of the things I have worried about is work and there was no reason! Everything was fine when I arrived back in the office yesterday – but did that stop me worrying?? No, of course not. I worried more than ever last night and got hardly any sleep. And you know what? Everything was fine today too. Still writing this to avoid going to bed though. I have bottled things up just a tad.

Sometimes I want to write about my worries. Sometimes I want to write about my passions. Sometimes I want to write about my hopes. Sometimes I want to write about my questions. Sometimes I want to write about this world, why I love it and hate it, why I love Jesus and hate Jesus, why I love this life and why I want this life to end. But I’m finding it hard to write about any of these things because… because of worry. I’m gutted that I’m back here, fear dogging my steps all the time, it hurts. It wants to rule me and I can’t let it. I’ve had a stark reminder recently of everything I want to escape so I can’t let it rule me.

I can’t think of a way out, that’s what I spent my two week holiday doing – ha, how restful. But methinks shutting down and hiding may not be the best way forward. Fear is a real bastard, you know that? He makes me doubt every tiny thing I do. Well, fuck you. This is my blog. It has a very cool name and a very cool frog. My blog.

Rah. I’m scared of everything all the time. Blogpost done.

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