My fear is still the same it just affects me less. It's like, if I'm lying on the floor with my head at floor level, a little figurine in front of my eyes will loom large, but if I stand up, it's insignificant.
I'm held captive by stories. The stories seem true, but I can learn to break free.
There are still some situations that, solely because of anxiety, are like torture for me. I know that, if it wasn't for anxiety, there would be no problem. There's power in that, because I can work on my anxiety. I am not at its mercy.
It's actually breakable. It's not immutable, like it seems. It lies to me, and I make those lies true by listening to them. There is no threat. It's just anxiety.
It's very real to me. But it's dying and my new life is growing, and those two processes feed each other, so it's happening very fast.
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