I Found My Inner Child and She’s a Disaster
I dislike my inner child so much, in fact, that I can't even deal with the words "inner child."
Lately, I feel that the way I've lived for years—in hyperconscious, hypervigilant awareness of everything I put in my mouth—no longer serves to quell my depression and anxiety. It actually exacerbates it.
Onstage she's a fearless rock god, but when the show is over, she's got the same crippling anxieties as the rest of us.
I asked my friend Ernesto, who works as an ICU nurse, some questions about existential anxiety, fear of death, and how surrounding oneself with the dying can affect one's brain.
After publishing a book that wasn't a complete failure, I've been having some very disturbing thoughts. What if I don't totally suck? What if I'm not the worst person on the planet? What if I do, God forbid, deserve happiness?
Underneath the infinity pool and the pink and purple sky of Bethany Cosentino's music is a complicated brain chemistry, dichotomous feelings, and a hamster wheel of a mind.
This week, my new therapist and I did some detective work and stumbled upon something that in 15 years of panic attacks I had never discovered before.
I always start therapy with the hope of accomplishing a particular goal, but is there ever really an end? I could do a different kind of work with a different kind of therapist every day and there would probably never be a terminus.
So Sad Today answers your questions about friends, crying your ass off, and telling that special someone how you really feel.