I hate hate hate anxiety voice.
And how my confidence in myself fluctuates.
And how doubts keep resurfacing no matter how much logic I throw at them.
One minute I’m confident in my plan and my ability to execute it and how much better it will make things on the other side.
Fast forward anywhere from a few seconds to a few hours later and I’m doubting I can do it, or worrying about how things are going to go so much I start to think I can’t do it.
Then I start doubting everything all the way down to the little things.
Like, my growing interest in makeup (I’m a bit of a late bloomer in that way).
I’ll look at my face and think it’s pretty, I’ve been blessed with very clear even toned skin. So I’ll think maybe I don’t need foundation, because I don’t really need it and it would leave me more freedom to indulge in things I really love; like red lipstick.
Then I’ll look again and start finding things I don’t like, imperfections in my head. And I’ll think how stupid I was, thinking I could pull off a clean look, just look at all the problems! So I start to feel ugly.
I’m also finally trying to get into looking a bit more polished than I usually do, and growing into a style of my own.
I’ve lost some weight and I’ll look in the mirror and be happy with what I see, even think to myself that I look better.
Upon a second look I remember my pudgy tummy, my ripply too thick thighs, my short legs.
How could I even think I look good? Why am I even trying to look cute? There is no reason for it, besides I couldn’t pull it off anyway.
It even extends to sex and kinks.
I feel bad for wanting some things Daddy isn’t comfortable with yet.
I feel like I dont do things right or please Daddy.
I feel unattractive, like I look bad in some positions.
Smell or taste bad (I have a serious cleanliness issue thanks to a past partner and am in constant fear I smell or taste bad no matter how often or thoroughly I wash)
I really start to think I can’t do anything.
So I constantly seem reassurance, some validation I suppose.
And I feel so selfish.
Daddy is doing so much to help me, even went so far as to make a strong statement against something my mother was mad at me for not perusing earlier in favor of what I wanted.
I feel like I ask too much of her, put too much on her, bother her with all this.
She just tells me it’s ok, I can’t control it, it’s not my fault.
I just can’t help but think maybe I could control it better or handle it on my own.
However that leads to bottling it up like I I did before and that’s not good.
I feel a dark spell coming and I don’t have time for it.
I’m sick to death of this illness.
I don’t want to be like this.
I’m ready for Daddy cuddles in the morning.