I’ve got blisters on my palm again.
I haven’t had them for a while. In fact, I can’t honestly remember the last time I had them. I used to worry that they were a symptom of something terrible that might be wrong with me, but the truth is they’re one of those weird idiosyncrasies of my anxiety.
When I’m anxious, I get blisters on my palms.
Tiny ones, ones that most people would never notice. But they’re there, they’re painful should they burst, or I scratch them when I need some release from my mind.
It’s been a while since I’ve been this anxious. I know there’s no need to be this anxious either. Logically I know all these things are things that I can cope with. That they’re things that I can work through, but it still feels insurmountable at the time.
It’s also something that I easily forget. I forget what it’s like to be that anxious because it’s rare at the moment, but this year has started roughly. It’s started roughly and I don’t know how to feel about it. I’m too numb to cry, too sad to be happy. I’m floating along unable to fully participate in the world.
So for the moment, I can try to work past it but know that for a while there’ll be blisters on my palms.