lost things. [tw: anxiety]

[Guest QueenJellybean]

Tinkerbell and the other fairies of Pixie Hollow collect lost things. 

 

It was always one of my favorite parts of the movies. When Tink found the lost things and made them into something special. Things that some people didn’t care about it, didn’t even know they lost. 

 

I used to feel like a lost thing. Sometimes, I still do. 

Discarded. 

Unwanted. 

Forgotten.

Not even recognized as lost. 

 

When I am deep in my anxiety, or in a bad place, I feel like a lost thing again. I don’t lose things often, at least not for long periods of time, except for myself. I lose myself pretty often. I guess you could say that I am the ultimate lost thing. 

 

I lose my ability to love sometimes, and I become harsh and cold. I push people away. I say exactly the right things to piss the people I love off, and when they turn their back to me to recover from my verbal blows, my anxiety leers down at me with a mocking expression and snarls “You see? I was right. You fuck everything up.” 

 

I lose my ability to think sometimes, and only sometimes it is in a good way when He makes me feel like I’m floating and I don’t need to think. Other times, it’s in a bad way and I can’t put the thoughts into words in the way I want them to go. I grasp at straws that are just out of my reach, and it’s frustrating to watch those doors in my mind continually slam in my face. 

 

I lose my ability to be honest sometimes, and it’s usually about myself. I struggle to find redeemable things about myself some days, and it’s in these moments that I need a firm hand to remind me to look a little harder rather than emptily tell me how beautiful I am. I can’t believe it from others if I don’t believe it about myself. I fake it until I make it just a little too hard, and I end up hurting those around me. 

 

I lose my ability to be around others sometimes, and I have to withdraw into myself a recharge. I imagine myself like a tiny oyster shell, shutting myself away from the world and storing up my energy reserves so that I can burst forth like the beautiful creature I know myself to be, pull myself along the ocean floor and survive each crashing wave. Protect my pearl. Even if I can’t see it all the time, I know it’s in there. 

 

Being a submissive has helped me find my lost pieces, my lost things. There are a lot of wonderful people in my life who are willing to help me sift through the rubble and find my lost things. He helps me find my head when I can’t see past the immediate, firm hands guiding me when I’m stumbling. She reminds me that it’s okay to not be able to think sometimes, and cups my face with such tenderness that I wonder if she thinks I’ll break. When I cannot be around others, they give me space and let me grow on my own, but remember to make sure I know I’m able to access them whenever I need to, or want to. No one forces me. No one pushes me. No one makes me feel like I am less for not being able to.

 

Simply the encouragement of knowing that I am loved, I am owned, and I am protected is enough encouragement to find my lost things, and pull a Tinkerbell, slowly stitching the pieces back together until they create something completely new and wonderful out of the discarded parts I had forgotten about.

 

[thesoftestprincess]

As someone who struggles with severe anxiety and also loves tinkerbell, I appreciate this so much and think it's so beautiful.