Dear Anxiety,
This is what I want you to know: I absolutely hate you, almost every part of you. I resent how you have filled every empty space inside of me, every crevice. You even managed to worm your way into parts of me that I thought were full. I have nothing of my own. My thoughts are not my own. My actions are not my own. My relationships are not my own. I share them. I share it all with you. I hate you. When you're not manipulating my insides, causing my chest to tighten, my heart to race, my stomach to twist and my breathing to become impossible, making me wish I was dead instead of experiencing all of this? You stand behind me, reminding me of the past. You lean over my shoulder whispering in my ear. God, I hate you. You know everything. You know my every flaw, my every weakness, my every worry and fear. You exploit them at every turn.
But Anxiety?
There are rare moments I don't despise you. Thank you for making me go to counseling. Thank you for teaching me the people that always look and act happy, the people with the biggest smiles, might not truly feel that way. I commend you for bringing me so low that I can never imagine doing that to someone else. You have instilled me with compassion and the ability to continuously remind people of why they're important, why they matter, that they are unconditionally loved, because you and I both know you will never let me feel that way.
But Anxiety?
Everyday you have me waking up on edge, my mind racing, making lists in my head of all the things I have to do, trying to plan my day, my actions, the way I stand, the way I talk, the eye contact I make, panicking that somehow I’ll screw up something, everything, always bouncing around never feeling like I can sit still, having to move from one thing right on to the next in fear that if I let my mind wander, even for a second, I’ll fall into a full-fledged panic attack. I feel like I can never get enough air in my lungs. The days when you make me want to stay in my bed because of your fucking whispers, the whispers that turn into fucking yells that are so damn loud in my head. I hate you. I hate you. I HATE YOU. You make me feel like I can't face people, because I'm not worthy of taking up the same space. You cause the nights I can't sleep, so I try, I try so fucking hard to stay busy so I can push myself to exhaustion so I don't think. But Anxiety, if I let my mind wander for even a moment you pounce on it. You help my mind to critique me on my day and show me how the minuscule can change the course of my whole life and how I royally screw up at every turn, and I can't turn it off. I can't turn off my thoughts no matter how irrational I know they may be, I cannot follow logic and it makes me even more upset and by then you seep back inside of me, taking over my insides and you throw me into a panic attack. I hate you. You constantly bring your friends around, and they linger with me, and I think they just may take up permanent residency like you have. Depression, perfectionism and even your acquaintance anorexia comes around. The depression that tells me none of it is worth it. The perfectionism that says I'll never measure up. The anorexic spurts that give a semblance of control before it all falls apart. I hate you Anxiety, yes with all of me I hate you ... but not as much as I hate me.
