Back when I was living with my best friend in college, I just couldn't manage a lot of basic life activities. And you know it was the little stuff - doing the dishes, getting up off the couch more than once a day. Yeah, even I thought it was weird. Having such trouble with things as easy as taking care of myself, my home, my needs.

Asking for help is about as much fun as a tonsillectomy with a hose pipe and a pair of pliers. So, if I do get that far, try not to say things like "I know how you feel," "it can't be that bad," "aren't you over that yet?" No. I'm pretty sure you don't, and I'm not. I have a chronic mental illness. It isn't going to go away. Ever. Can you imagine...

So it's Thanksgiving week in the US. Already! Time to get out the Sunday best, prep for the presents, parties, company cocktails, chaotic travel arrangements and family gatherings. Some of us are lucky enough to be totally comfortable with all of that - to have supportive, warm friends and family who don't rely entirely on gossip, ironic embroidered knitwear and gin to get them through the Holidays. (If you happen to be that someone can I crash the castle?) Mostly I just want to look and feel my best, to have enough happy-go-lucky, devil may care attitude to spare: In the hopes that I'll make it through to January without too much general and social anxiety, minus the always pleasant addition of 'where did my year go and why do I suddenly feel the need to make impossible resolutions' panic.

And by intimacy I don't necessarily mean sex but sure, there is that. Have you heard my heart? It's beating, healing, wanting, aching, anticipating. It's telling you I hear you, see you, feel you. You aren't lost. And it's telling me the same. It's somewhere in the maze of all these words scrolling down yet another page. Not even a page you can hold between your fingers. Maybe just keys to prop you up as you listen, fighting the panic, and feeling like you're slowly coming unstuck, again. Listen. You can cope with anxiety.

Crazy isn't always crazy, but I wonder if I'm lost, or if I'm found. I wonder if I'm halfway gone and nobody has bothered to tell me yet. It's a fine line, this sanity thing. Supposedly you either have it, or you don't. But I don't entirely trust this theory. And it is just a theory. Truthfully, they can't tell you what sanity is for sure except that it's something you probably can't ever be sure of. Crazy isn't always crazy.

We all need sleep, but for many of us, particularly those living with anxiety, it's difficult to find. What with the pressures of time, work, family, studies, constant stimulation and lots of towns and cities that never really shut down. Let alone take a siesta. What's getting in the way of your getting a good night's sleep and beating anxiety? Take a look at these 4 important areas of a good sleep lifestyle.

Getting sleep has to be a priority if you want to fight anxiety and find relief. It's definitely a matter of quality but studies have shown that quantity plays a big part in that: How well rested we feel after a night's sleep. For optimal health and well-being Labcoats 'R Us will tell you we should all be getting between 7-8 hours sleep a night; A lovely thought dreamed up by people who've clearly never gone 4 days without sleep and found themselves wondering why the walls are slithering. 

The fear's on different floors, locked in boxes, scattered in the places, worn out spaces I don't go. And if that's true, if it's everywhere and nowhere and exactly right here, where I don't want to look - then it's probably a big thing. Bigger than me. Maybe bigger than I should mess with: But I want to understand. Don't you?

What's it like, keeping the secrets of trauma and PTSD? I have so much to tell you, and I can't say a word. The trauma's tucked away, a dirty little secret that you keep. Maybe you try to tell a friend, therapist, lover. Maybe they get it, maybe they don't. But oh, how you want them to get it. You want their understanding words. And you want to scream, cry, run - from the fear and the pain and the sinking feeling of waking up each day and not being quite sure if it'll stay today, today. But you don't, you don't do much any of that. Most of the time you . . . survive. Trauma and PTSD make keeping secrets easier, but surviving increasingly difficult.

There's a lot about anxiety that I don't know, but I do know that no matter what variety you're dealing with, it's tough. I can't afford to just sit around and let the waves roll in, no matter how much that might seem like a good idea sometimes.