Hi anxiety,
I see you there. That’s not right though, is it? I never actually see you. I only feel you, insidiously bouncing around in my chest, taking pleasure in cramping various parts of my body. You’re like a heart attack, or a can of Red Bull.
I feel you when I can’t sleep at night, holding me hostage from slumber, forcing me to think of the future. Wide awake, eyes open, I stare at the ceiling, urging you to leave me.
I feel you when I get out of bed after a horrible night’s sleep, reminding me that I don’t have enough energy to get through the day. I especially feel you when I lose my appetite, and my favorite foods don’t taste good anymore. You thrive when it comes to destroying my relationship with food.
I feel you in waiting rooms, in cramped buses, at conferences where I’m surrounded by people incredibly more accomplished than I am. And when I sit down to write a paper, I know you’re there. Sometimes, you don’t let me get out of bed on time. Other times, you throw me into overdrive, pushing me to stay up late and drink another coffee. It’s usually the former.
Anxiety, I’ve learned to live with you for about a year now. I think we’ve gotten better at getting along since then, but that doesn’t mean I’m happy to have you around. Why do you get in the way? Better yet, why do I let you? Why are you so powerful? Why are you so fond of sending me into a panic regarding something irrelevant?
I said at the start of my letter to you that I never actually see you, but I realize now that’s not quite true. I do see you. I see you in unfinished meals, in bags under my eyes, in illegible scribbles in the margins of books. You’re a dark room that I find no comfort in. I can hear you in my shaky voice that I don’t even recognize as mine sometimes.
It’s been about a year with you, anxiety. But I won’t bother saying happy anniversary. You came along during a really important time in my life, and you weren’t exactly welcome. You’re not around as often as you used to be, and I like it that way. If anything has improved for us, it’s that now I can recognize you. I don’t Google you anymore (or, to be fair, as often as I used to). I’m not that great at avoiding you, but I think I’m a little better at controlling you when you show up. Deep breaths send you away. So do meditation and doing yoga.
Anxiety, the less of you I feel, the happier I am. Please don’t take it personally.