My anxiety and me are a match made in hell. We are unbreakable like the love I always wanted. My anxiety is the thing of my dreams, well nightmares actually.
My anxiety drives me crazy.
It makes me fidget like a dog with fleas.
It makes me squirm like a fish out of water.
My anxiety is my abusive partner, except I can never leave him.
It secludes me from my friends and my loved ones.
It controls who I talk to, what I wear, how I interact with people.
Always so careful, always walking on eggshells.
My anxiety manipulates me, it loves telling me what I need to do.
My anxiety tells me staying in bed is better, but who wants to stay in bed all day, it whispers.
My anxiety tells me do this do that, stop no don’t do that, no do it.
I love you.
I hate you.
I love you.
You’re stupid.
You’re beautiful.
You’re smart.
You’re ugly.
My anxiety is always the predator, and me I am its prey.
My anxiety is the lion and me, I am the rabbit who can never run fast enough.
No matter what precautions I take my anxiety is always five steps ahead of me sitting on a couch sipping a cup of English brewed tea, waiting.
My anxiety loves telling me I will never be shit yet it makes me work harder.
My anxiety makes me left leg quiver like a lover during love making, only never that full of love only very full of passion, but not in a good way.
It makes my hand ache when they aren’t typing all of the analogies for this relationship fast enough.
My anxiety wants me to get it all out, no wait my anxiety wants me to chill.
My anxiety means well, but comes out really bitchy.
My anxiety wants what’s best for you.
My anxiety doesn’t hyperventilate, it’s very silent, very scary.
The darkness that comes with my anxiety is unbearable and it’s suffocating and its scary.
And it's morbid and it's hateful, my anxiety loves telling me I need to be loved, that I need to love but it loves making me feel numb.
I am a prisoner in my own mind, serving a life sentence I never thought I deserved.
Think too much that’s a problem, think too little that’s a problem.
I try to fight it but it cradles me to sleep, and it brings me breakfast in bed in the morning.
My anxiety leaves me breathless, so breathless I often need my inhalers when we encounter.
My panic attacks are silent, they look like nothing.
It looks like I’m dazing off, and most times people never know the battle I’m fighting.
I always smile after because I won. But my anxiety is a sore loser, and it comes back hard, better, stronger. It refuses to be quiet.
It is a monster I have created, a cage of my own making.
The harder I try to break free, the more and more I fuel this fire.
This fire that started with a match is now a forest fire of the worst kind in fact.
My soul aches to be free, and yet my anxiety coddles it, tells me I will never be happy.
My anxiety is never happy, it’s never content with letting me be.
It’s like the upstairs neighbor that always needs to make its presence know.
My anxiety doesn’t care that you want me to relax, that’s not a word we understand.
My anxiety dropped my mind on a secluded, deserted island, and I am still trying to find my way off it.
My anxiety doesn’t give up.
My anxiety makes my heart race at a million miles an hour.
My anxiety started young.
I caressed it and watered it until it grew up to become the deviant it is.
When my teachers yelled at me and I cried, I was perceived as weak.
Never as the start of something bigger.
When I cried when I didn’t do something right,
When I felt like I was going to drown while I was sitting in a boat.
When I couldn’t stop thinking about all the thing I needed to do while trying to have a good time with friends.
My anxiety is the elephant in my bedroom, in my bed.
My anxiety is belly flips, overexcitement, and it's under excitement, it paralyzes me.
It makes me confused. I don’t ever know what it wants from me,
Or what I am so anxious about.
My anxiety doesn’t care that you don’t take it serious.
That you don’t think it’s real, like a child's imaginary friend.
My anxiety is not worry,
My anxiety is a raging waterfall, and I’m a baby turtle.
My anxiety is the monster under my bed, it’s the one in my closet.
I knew there was a logic behind my fear of the darkness, that’s where it lives, thrives, grows.
My anxiety is the energizer bunny.
It’s the thing that won’t quit.
My anxiety is the iceberg, and I am the titanic.
