When I was diagnosed with Generalized Anxiety Disorder, I was not upset, nor was I surprised. As my therapist sat across from me with a notebook and a straight face, I was amused–– I even laughed. Having spent most of my incredibly comfortable life with the stress levels of a small animal being hunted for sport, this conclusion made perfect sense to me. In short, I considered this diagnosis to be equally as funny as it was sad. I told this verbatim to my therapist, and he did not laugh.

Thinking this sentiment to be funnier than it actually was, I shared it in a workshop, where no one else found it to be funny either. BUT my professor did say he was interested in seeing more work on this topic from me. At first I rejected this. I didn’t see myself as a mental health writer. Yet, the more I thought about it, the more I realized, I kind of already was one.

I’m a big ruminator. I never really stop thinking. I think until the wee hours of the morning; sometimes finding clarity, sometimes finding panic, but it's these thoughts, these ruminations, that litter themselves throughout my writing.

Like, I think about the end of the world all the time, and I write about it too; The Apocalypse and Revelations and climate change and mass global destruction.

I write about my home: Birmingham, Alabama. The American South with its warm weather, kind smiles, locked doors, and historic scars. Worlds where snakes slither through the tall grass to invite you over for iced tea.

I write about isolation. About feeling lonely. About feeling trapped and stuck. About not feeling heard. About not being able to hear.

I write about community. About people who crave it, who push it away, who want to find it.

I write about old women. I had a complex relationship with my grandma. You get it.

I write about women, period. But not periods. Or at least not yet. I write about girls who are catty, selfish, and rude. Women who still scrape their knees at age 21, and don’t have many friends. Women who cannot begin to verbalize what it is they’re feeling.

I write about the b-word, but hate saying it sometimes because I was told God doesn’t like that word. And I believe in God. I write about that sometimes too.

I write about gray matter and middle-grounds. I don’t fully believe in dichotomies.

I don’t write comedy, but I write things that are funny. Like how the clinical nickname for Generalized Anxiety Disorder is GAD. Which kind of sounds silly when you say it out loud.

I write anxiously–– about all the things that I can’t stop thinking about. And maybe we can think about them together.