I wish you came with a warning. Something to let me know that you were lurking, waiting. Perhaps even taking the time, to wear a subtle name tag as you walk toward me. I wish you were like a sign in a car wash, GO, SLOW, STOP before I reached any possible trigger. I hate living every day wondering if it’ll be good, or throttled in the other direction by a snap of your fingers.

I wish you’d let me be in control, that you wouldn’t be so overbearing. I wish I could say I was stronger than you. That my thoughts could overpower yours and yours have little to no meaning to me. If you could pause, or lessen a bit, that would be great. Let me find my ground, stumble and get up again. Instead of yelling at me, telling me I’ve failed in these numerous ways.

People sit and judge me, whether I chose to label myself as in a relationship with you (oh lovely anxiety,) or not. They assume I take pride in holding the title of a bad student. They see my skipping as a luxury rather than a necessity. They see me as a student who thinks they are too cool to even show up to classes that are actually very meaningful to me. They see me as a disappointment, assuming that I’m failing. When in fact every assignment and test is still attended to as timely as I can complete them. They don’t see the girl, who’s struggling to leave her house. The girl who sits and hides within her room to breathe. The girl who gets upset, emotionally and physically, at the absent thought of leaving.

This is the same girl who avoids the topic of anxiety, who is too ashamed to admit it because of all the negative stigmas and connotations that lead them to believe she’s crazy. This same girl can barely stomach to eat certain days, and other days she thrives—completing and conquering every task that’s thrown at her. I want to be that girl, I want to strive, I want to conquer, I want to succeed. I’ve made it this far.

So, with that being said. Anxiety, I’m breaking up with you. Of course, you’ll be just like that one ex you can’t escape, lingering on social media, checking my Facebook to find an outlet into my life. I have no doubt you’ll be lurking around each moment waiting for a simple trigger to set me off and send me running back into your arms. But I refuse, absolutely and utterly refuse, to let you take over again.

I refuse to let you make me a textbook definition. I refuse to let you control my every move. I refuse to become you. I’m not anxiety, I’m simply acquainted with it.

I wish you the best,

I'm free.